A Promise Made
by orangetails
Summary: Sequel (of sorts) to my first story The Air We Breathe. Callen's recovery, and his developing friendship with the boy he saved. A whole lot of Callen H/C and some of the vulnerable side of him we only get to see tiny glimpses of on the show. Both stories are complete without needing to read the other, but this one will make more sense if you do read Air first... Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N** I promised a second story... this actually isn't it ;-) I got a bit stuck on the story I was writing, and one of the readers of **The Air We Breathe** had messaged me suggesting a follow-up, a bit more Callen-whumping, on the basis he did make a slightly unbelievably speedy recovery from the gas... So I started writing this - a lot of Callen, a fair bit of Sam, and plenty of H/C. It won't suit everyone I know, so be kind if you choose to read and review, but it's serving the purpose of keeping me writing, keeping me in the characters heads a bit, while I take my time to get the other one working._

 _I must apologise that I'm writing in snatches while my 5yo daughter is on her long summer break, so it's not quite as polished... And I wouldn't be surprised if the words 'Mummy can I do this/that/the other' sneak in lol._

 _This follows more or less directly on from my first story **The Air We Breathe** , so ideally you need to read that first, although it will mostly make sense as a standalone._

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE**

Callen lay silently with his eyes shut, trying to process the jumble of noises he was hearing over the roaring in his head. He tried to open his eyes but his eyelids felt weighed down and so instead he concentrated on his other senses. Noise. Above the roaring which sounded like rush hour traffic trapped in a small tunnel, he could hear a persistent regular beeping, and the murmur of voices. He strained to see if he recognised who was speaking. A man and a woman. Both sounded familiar but the drug-induced haze in his brain couldn't yet process any words they were saying.

He was lying half on his side, he realised. Lying on something soft, and there was something behind him stopping him from rolling flat onto his back. A pillow under his head. That horrible antiseptic smell only found in one place, the place he hated most of all. Was he in a hospital?

He shifted uncomfortably, and as if woken by his movement, all his nerves came alive and he clenched his teeth in pain. He must have made a noise, because the voices suddenly were much closer to him, and finally he was able to open his eyes and when he did he found himself almost face to face with Hetty. She was bending slightly to peer closely at him.

He blinked to clear his vision. There were bars between his face and hers. The light glinting on them hurt his eyes.

"H… Hetty?" he rasped, surprised at how that single word hurt his throat.

"It's good to see you again, Mr Callen."

Callen felt sure he'd heard her say something like that before, recently.

"Wh…?"

"You're in the hospital, Mr Callen," and seeing him immediately tense and try to shift his position, she said "Don't try to move. Everything is going to be fine. You gave us quite a scare, but you're okay. Just rest, please."

Callen mentally shook his head, confused.

"Sam?"

"Mr Hanna is fine," Hetty said reassuringly, seeing he wasn't quite firing on all cylinders yet. "Would you like me to go and get him? He is down the hall, with Marcus."

Callen knew that name. Why did he know that name?

"Marcus?" he coughed wearily.

"Try to go back to sleep," Hetty said gently. "We'll talk more when you are better rested."

Callen wanted to argue, but his eyelids were already closing, and his muddled brain wasn't cooperating. He felt the pull of sleep slowly claim him.

When he woke again, the anesthetic had worn off and he felt more alert. Still lying on something soft. A bed, with bars in front of his face. Soft pillows wedged behind him, still holding him halfway between his back and his side. Still hurting. He tried to move, and groaned uncomfortably.

"Hey there," he heard Sam's voice, and he moved his eyes in the direction it had come from. The blurry outline of his partner filled his vision through the bars.

"Am I.. in prison?" he asked, only half joking. Sam snorted.

"Depends on your point of view. Bed rail," Sam responded, resting his hands on it. "Apparently you didn't think you'd given Hetty and I enough grey hairs…"

"Hospital?" Callen confirmed despondently.

"Yeah. Scared the shit out of us. There we were thinking it was all over, and you dropped like a stone at my feet."

Callen blinked, a rush of memories assaulting him. Marcus. The fight with Henderson. Sam coming to his rescue… again. Keeping vigil at the boy's bedside, Sam with him. The boy sleeping. He'd fallen asleep too, leaning on the boy's bed. He'd woken up, walked to the window. Sam asking if he was okay…

"What happened?"

"You blacked out, collapsed. All manner of panic. They rushed you down to the ER to discover your lungs giving up on you again and blood in your chest…."

Callen remembered Henderson slamming him backwards against the wall, knocking the air out of him.

"Damn," he grunted, shifting uncomfortably. "Can I… sit up?"

"Not til the doctor has seen you," Sam explained regretfully. "They had to put in a chest drain." He saw the change in Callen's face. "Couple of days, G," he said reassuringly. "You can manage a couple of days…"

Callen wasn't so sure, but he clenched his jaw and nodded, not wanting to burden his partner with any more worry. He took further stock of his physical state. His chest was painfully sore and even he had to concede that breathing was a real struggle. The damned oxygen tube was back in his nose. There was a blood pressure cuff on his right arm, and monitors on his chest, wires snaking out under the gown. An IV catheter and a pulse meter once again adorned his right hand, and the graze on his right forearm had a new dressing covering it. He was wedged at an angle on his right side, and he could feel the drain uncomfortably in his left ribcage. His left bicep felt uncomfortably bulky with fresh bandages limiting the movement of his arm, and he was hurting a lot more than he cared to admit in the area where the bullet had damaged his rib.

"Back… where we… started," he panted roughly, trying for calm.

"Well, not quite," Sam was still trying to reassure him. "No ventilator." Callen had to agree that was a considerable plus. "What happened with Henderson?" Sam asked.

"We… fought. I tried... to grab him… from behind…. He slammed me… against… the wall..." Talking was taking its toll, again.

"Explains a lot," Sam said, and carried on when Callen raised his eyebrows. "The rib the bullet damaged before broke and caused the bleeding around your lung."

"Damn," Callen said again, with feeling.

"You could say that," Sam agreed, and then, aware of his partner's sore throat, offered, "Do you want some ice chips?"

"Rather have… a beer," Callen said grumpily, which Sam took as acknowledgement.

"You gonna stay put?" he asked, moving to lower the bed rail. Callen nodded wearily, and Sam dropped the imprisoning bars and gently spooned some ice chips into Callen's mouth. "More?" Callen swallowed and nodded gratefully. The ice was soothing on his throat, still swollen and sore from the effects of breathing in the gas and aggravated again by his recent anaesthesia.

"Thanks." He paused. "Marcus?"

"He's fine. Brave kid. He asked how you were when he woke up this morning."

"When he…. What time...?"

"About 5am when you collapsed," Sam explained. "Nearly six now. In the evening," he added, for clarity. "You were out of it a good few hours after they operated. Hetty was beside herself." Callen made a face.

"Sorry."

"Not your fault. Well, not entirely. Why did you disappear off on your own like that? Any of us would have driven you over here, if you'd only asked."

"Didn't… think," Callen admitted, and Sam knew it was the truth. It just wasn't in Callen's nature to ask for help. "Didn't want him… to wake up… alone."

"Well, he was lucky," Sam said. "A minute or two later…"

"Yeah." Callen shifted uncomfortably again, wincing as he tried to hide the pain from Sam. Unsuccessfully, of course.

"Where are you hurting?"

"Chest," Callen responded economically, short of breath.

"You know they'll give you something for it, if you ask."

"Later. Maybe." Sam rolled his eyes. Callen would never ask, would never admit to pain, except to Sam, and even that was rare. If he'd been more upfront about the fight with Henderson and the resulting pain in his chest and difficulty breathing, they might have caught the problem before he collapsed, but Sam knew it was just who Callen was, and there was no point expecting him to change.

"Get some rest," Sam instructed. "Your doctor will be here soon."


	2. Chapter 2

_Not sure this is the greatest chapter. Please remember when it comes to the medical stuff, I am only as good as Dr Google! ;-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWO**

"Good evening, Agent Callen."

Callen heard the familiar voice of his doctor, though he was facing the wrong way to see anyone entering his room which bothered him, but even the slightest shift of his weight on the bed caused unparalleled pain in his chest so he had done his best to rest quietly as Sam had said. Sam rose from where he'd been sitting guard, placing a hand on the bed rail reassuringly in unspoken understanding of his partner's vulnerability. He stayed in Callen's sights while the doctor rounded the bed to stand in front of him. Callen couldn't quite hide the apprehension in his eyes as he looked up. Bantering with Sam earlier had been okay, but having his doctor back in the room made his re-admission seem suddenly very real, and though not much in life scared him, he feared what the doctor was now going to say.

"Want me to stay?" he heard Sam ask, and he nodded, grateful that Sam understood how hard it was for him to remain composed whilst prone as he was. All his instincts were screaming at him to get up and run away, however he had the common sense to realise he'd almost certainly drop like a stone at Sam's feet again. Once was bad enough, twice would be hard to live down.

The doctor also nodded, appreciating from Callen's previous stay how Sam's presence kept his patient calmer. And calm was what he needed to be right now, the way his lungs were struggling. It had been touch and go not to sedate and intubate again, and it was only his previous knowledge of how stressed his patient got under sedation that had made the doctor wary to go down that route if it could possibly be helped. "It seems you haven't quite had enough of us yet," he said gently, pulling a chair closer to the bed and perching on the edge of it so that he could converse with Callen at eye level.

"I guess not."

"I will do everything in my power to get you discharged as soon as I can, but in order for that to happen, I am going to need you to cooperate with us for the next few days." The doctor's voice was kind but firm, and Callen reluctantly nodded. "Whilst the prognosis is good, your immediate condition is serious, and we do need you to remain here to be treated," the doctor continued. "I am sorry that I was not here earlier when you woke up. I trust your partner has explained what happened?"

"A little…"

"It would appear as a result of your, err, altercation, there was further damage to your lungs and ribcage…"

"He got slammed up backwards against the wall," Sam interjected.

"I see... That would explain his injures; Agent Callen, you have suffered a mild myocardial contusion which we are monitoring," he gestured to the heart rate monitors. "That was the likely cause of your sudden collapse, as your blood pressure dropped dangerously low. You also have a moderately severe pulmonary contusion to the left lung, and the rib that was already weakened from the bullet lodging in it cracked completely, causing a hemothorax… that is, bleeding inside the pleural space – the small gap between the lungs and the chest wall." He saw both agents nodding in understanding, and continued. "We have inserted a chest drain, which will need to stay in place for at least two days. Due to this and the concussive trauma to your heart and lung further restricting your intake of oxygen on top of the existing trauma from the gas, I need you to rest in bed, at least for the next couple of days… I appreciate this is difficult for you, but it is essential that you remain still and quiet, and give those lungs of yours a chance. If you need me to give you something to help you relax, I can."

"He'll be okay, doc," Sam said quietly, when Callen remained silent.

"We realigned your rib and strapped it, but if that is not sufficient we may need to operate to wire it while it heals. We also had to re-stitch your bullet wound which had re-opened. Which brings me to ask, do you have any further pain or problems we should be aware of? I need you to be absolutely honest with me here, or it's only going to delay your recovery."

Callen gave a brief sigh which turned into a heaving cough, but shook his head. He had assumed the build-up of pain and difficulty breathing the day before was a result of his fight with Henderson, hadn't considered the possibility of further damage. But apart from the now familiar after-effects of the gas along with the new pain in his chest from the bruising and the drain, he didn't have any fresh injuries.

"Okay. You've been lucky twice now. Let's not risk it three times. Pulmonary contusions alone can be extremely painful, so if you are in any discomfort, please say and we can prescribe pain relief. I would like you to continue to avoid using that arm for a few days, and you'll be most comfortable lying as you are now in the early stages, to take the pressure off your broken rib, but if you can tolerate lying on your back I am happy for you to do so. I simply ask that you request assistance to move, as it is imperative you do not over-exert your lungs. You'll need to take care that the chest tubing is not disturbed. If all is still well when I see you tomorrow evening, we will see about getting you up and moving a little bit, and a Physical Therapist will see you first thing in the morning to give you some breathing exercises to maintain correct lung function."

"Thanks doc," Sam said as the doctor rose to leave, patting Callen gently on the shoulder as he did so.

"I will send a dinner tray round," the doctor added to Sam as he left. "You can help him sit up to eat, if he is comfortable enough." Sam nodded, and waited til the doctor closed the door.

"Okay?" he said, looking down at Callen. "You want to lie on your back?"

"Yeah," Callen grunted, starting to shift his right arm from under him to lever himself over.

"Did you not just hear the doctor?" Sam demanded. "Here." He placed a firm but gentle hand on Callen's left shoulder, above the bandages, holding his partner still while he removed the pillows from behind Callen's back. Once done, he used the same hand to carefully hold the tubing from the chest drain in position while he helped Callen shift fully onto his back. "Better?" Sam could see moving had hurt, but Callen was also noticeably happier to have a full view of the room.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"No problem." Sam paused for a moment. "G… you're not hiding anything are you? The fight with Henderson… he didn't hurt you anywhere else?"

Callen shook his head. "No." He paused, seeing his partner needed more reassurance. "Honestly… maybe a bruise... or two, but... Sam… I didn't realise…." He gestured to the chest drain. "I thought he just… winded me. Didn't see… this… coming."

"You and me both," Sam said with feeling, remembering the appalling moment Callen had crashed to the floor in front of him. All night, Callen had suffered the bruising and build-up of bleeding in his chest… and all night neither of them had noticed. Sam was cursing himself, for he knew the signs of a hemothorax well and couldn't believe he had missed them in Callen. His thoughts were disturbed by the arrival of the promised meal tray. "You hungry?"

Callen shrugged. "Maybe… a little." If nothing else, attempting to eat meant sitting up for a bit, and he preferred that to lying down. Sam gently raised the head of the bed and positioned the moving table over Callen's lap. He took the lid off the tray and Callen felt a wave of nausea as he looked at the contents. He breathed as deeply as he could, fighting to get it under control, while Sam looked on with concern. "Cheer up," Callen eventually said. "I'm not… dying." Sam snorted, and selected the one item he thought his partner might attempt, the small pot of jello.

"Here," he said, peeling back the lid and passing it for Callen to eat. He had to resist the urge to help as Callen struggled to hold the pot with his sore left arm, and his right hand, encumbered by the IV and pulse monitor, wasn't working so well either. Sam refrained from commenting on Callen's weakness, knowing it wouldn't be well received, but he watched worriedly. Eventually Callen was done and Sam silently took the empty pot and pushed the table away. He offered Callen the carton of juice, which his partner slowly drank, sinking his head back tiredly against the pillows when he was done.

"You can… go home, Sam."

"I'm sure we had this discussion a few days ago," Sam teased, though there was concern still in his eyes.

Callen didn't have the energy to say he'd be fine. The pain in his chest was worse than he'd ever known, and it was as much as he could do to keep breathing through it. He'd have preferred not to have to put on a front for Sam any longer but part of him was also grateful for the company, and so, eventually, he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Definition of irony - when you're stuck on the story you only started writing because you were stuck on a different story... The other story safely back on track (I think..!) This one... the next four/five chapters are written, but I don't know how to get from there to the end lol! Ideas on a postcard..._

* * *

 **CHAPTER THREE**

Callen woke in the night with a blinding pain in the back of his ribcage. He found the head of his bed had been lowered again for the night, so he was lying almost flat, though still on his back. He rolled his head on the pillow to see Sam sleeping in the reclining chair, and shifted uncomfortably, sucking in air between his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Sam muttered sleepily.

"Moving," Callen gasped, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

"Let me help." Callen could hear Sam getting up and quickly crossing to him. He pulled the string of the lamp above Callen's head, using a hand to shield the bright light from his partner's eyes when it first came on. Callen's face was lined with pain which, as ever, he tried to hide. "Ribs?" Sam asked and Callen nodded. "Let's get you on your side." Sam reached out again to Callen's left shoulder, and helped him roll from his back to his side, tidying the various tubes and wires as he did so. Once Callen was on his side though, Sam realised the extra pillows were on the two plastic chairs, out of reach. He sighed, mentally kicking himself for not moving those before he started moving Callen, but his partner's pain had been extreme and he had rushed, barely awake, to his aid as quickly as possible. "Don't tell your doctor," he muttered, half seriously, as he gently took Callen's left arm and stretched it out in front of him, placing his hand round the metal of the bed rail and telling him to hold on. Callen obeyed, though Sam could see it hurt, and he quickly grabbed the pillows to prop behind Callen's back so that he would be supported on his side without having to hold himself there with his injured arm. "Sorry," he said, as Callen released his fingers with relief and gingerly moved his arm back to a more comfortable position.

"Not… your fault," Callen wheezed when he could speak again. "Thanks."

"No problem," Sam said gruffly. "Get some more sleep."

By the time morning dawned, Callen had eventually managed to fall asleep and stay asleep. Sam got up stiffly out of the chair, relieved to see Callen sleeping at last. It had been a long night. He took the opportunity to shower, but regretted it when he returned to the room to find his partner awake and looking mildly distressed – still propped on his side Callen had heard the noises of the shower but had been unable to see where Sam had gone. Logic told him it was only Sam using his bathroom, but his primeval survival instincts were screaming at having his back to potential danger.

"You're okay," Sam said quietly. "I locked your door. I got your back, remember?" Callen swallowed, knowing he should trust his partner, knowing rationally he wasn't in any imminent danger in the hospital, but all the same unable to shift a lifetime's habits. He flinched when they heard a knock at the door. "Just Hetty, and your nurse," Sam told him soothingly, and he hated that Sam felt the need to use that tone. Sam crossed to unlock and open the door. "Just showering," he explained to a slightly disgruntled nurse, one they hadn't yet met, waiting to come into the room. She rather brusquely recorded all of Callen's obs before leaving without saying a word, and Callen shuddered at the invasion. All he wanted was to be left alone. He was tired, he was sore, and he was sick of the incessant beeping of the monitors and the continual interruptions as medical staff came to check on him.

"How are you feeling this morning, Mr Callen?" Hetty came into view, reaching her hand through the rails to take hold of his.

"Sore," Callen admitted grumpily, not seeing the sense in pretending with the two people who could read him most closely and would only disagree if he lied. He didn't have the energy to argue his case, a case which was pretty weak right now he had to admit. Not a chance of them believing him if he tried saying he was good. Hetty looked like she had aged ten years in the last couple of days, and he wanted to reassure her, but he felt too weary and in pain to even raise much of a smile.

"I see. And have you taken anything for it?" she asked gently.

"Of course he hasn't," Sam snorted.

"Sam…" Callen said warningly. "Leave it."

"Why don't you go and get some breakfast, Mr Hanna?" Hetty suggested. "I will sit with Mr Callen until you return." Sam knew he'd been given an order, veiled as a polite suggestion though it was.

"You want anything, G?" he asked.

"Tea?" Callen suggested. "A get out… of jail… free… card?"

"I'll bring you some tea," Sam promised.

"Oh Mr Callen," Hetty sighed, sitting down where he could easily see her. "I'm afraid there is no chance of an early release this time."

"I know," Callen sighed uneasily, wincing as he shifted his weight slightly.

"How are you doing?" she asked frankly, leaning forward to get a closer look at his face. She still held his hand, and squeezed it protectively. The small contact brought a lump to his throat and he cursed his pain-driven emotions.

"I'd rather not… be here…" he said eventually, when he had his voice under control. "But then… you know… that."

"Indeed I do, Mr Callen. Indeed I do. You've endured worse torture in your line of work… but, there is something about hospitals for you, isn't there?"

He nodded, not expanding. He'd never spoken to anyone about where his intense dislike of hospitals stemmed from, though he suspected Hetty probably knew, and understood how he struggled to cope with feeling trapped. "Sam said… a couple of… days?" It was half a question, seeking confirmation, for he was almost certain Hetty would have already spoken to his doctor.

"Let's hope so," she responded, which didn't leave him much reassured. "You will stay as long as you need to, if I have to restrain you here myself," she ordered softly. Callen nodded. He wasn't stupid. He knew he was in a pretty bad way.

"Hetty…" he coughed. "No visitors." Now the case was wrapped up and the boy was safe, he didn't want the pity or attention from anyone in his team. He was far more accustomed to licking his wounds in private.

"They're all worried about you."

"No visitors," Callen repeated stubbornly, and Hetty slowly nodded, respecting his decision even if she didn't agree with it.

"I hope you will entertain one particular visitor later this morning," she said, and Callen raised his eyebrows at her. "Marcus would like to see you. His new foster parents are taking him home at lunchtime, and he has asked if he can visit you before he goes with them."

Callen felt a churning of emotions. The lack of oxygen and over-whelming pain was making him tired and irritable, and he really didn't like how weak and vulnerable he felt, nor did he want the boy to feel in any way guilty for his current condition. But still… a promise was a promise. He silently nodded his consent, as Hetty had known he would.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Sam could feel Callen's tension building as the morning wore on, almost as if he could reach out and touch it in the air. A short PT session provided a welcome distraction as Callen was given some deep breathing exercises to help his lungs, and Callen used the physical pain to block out the mental, but as the time for Marcus to visit drew nearer Sam could see Callen's state of mind take a turning for the worse. As his anxiety increased, so too did the difficulty he had breathing, which in turn amplified the aching in his battered chest. By mid-morning, Callen was struggling to keep the pain under control, beads of sweat standing out on his lined forehead.

"Come on, G," Sam said eventually. "He's just a kid. What's gotten you into this state?"

But Callen could only stare hollowly at Sam, unable to voice the demons in his head. Marcus was only two years older than he himself had been when he entered the foster care system, and painful memories of the many troubled homes he'd had in that time had been assaulting him continually ever since Hetty had told him Marcus would go into care. He had promised to keep an eye on the boy, but would that be enough?

"He will be fine," Sam said softly, understanding at least a little of what was on his partner's mind. "Hetty vetted the new parents personally." Sam let Callen digest that news before speaking again. "Can I get you anything for the pain?" He felt like he was asking Callen every hour, and just like the countless other times he had asked, Callen shook his head. "A drink then? Something to eat?"

"Drink… would be good," Callen croaked, his mouth dry.

"Let me help you sit up," Sam said, moving to take away the pillows behind Callen's back, and holding the drain tubing for him while he shifted painfully round. Once he was flat on his back again Sam slowly raised the head of the bed and handed Callen the glass of water. Callen took it, and winced as the IV tube caught on the sheet, pulling the needle in his hand. He muttered in Russian a word that Sam knew was a curse and the Seal couldn't help but chuckle as he eased the line free. "They'll take it out soon," he said placatingly. "Your blood pressure was through the floor, but it's looking better today."

"I'll hold you to that," Callen grumbled, hating it all. He finished the drink and accepted when Sam offered him a refill, sipping slowly between gasping breaths and resting his head back when he was done. His shortness of breath was leaving him very tired.

"I'm here for you, G," Sam said into the quiet.

"Don't go all… mother hen… on me," Callen responded after a moment, feeling awkward. He knew Sam was there for him, he even knew Sam understood on some levels, but was still surprised his partner had felt the need to voice it so openly, and he didn't know how to react.

"I just wanted you to know," Sam said. "I know all this…" he gestured to the wires and tubes, "is hard for you to deal with. I know you're in pain. I just wanted you to know, I'm here." He clapped a hand gently on Callen's shoulder.

"Thanks, big guy," Callen responded softly, rubbing his hand over his face as he wondered, not for the first time, at what point this large, loyal Seal had managed to penetrate his brick walls. After a moment of silence there was a knock at the door, and Sam rose to open it. Standing there, shyly, with the hands of a short, kindly woman on his shoulders and a taller quiet looking man a step behind, was Marcus.

"G?" Sam said, turning to his partner. Callen looked past Sam, and met the eyes of the woman first. He saw in her something akin to the maternal protectiveness he sometimes caught in Hetty's eyes when she looked at him, and gave a brief nod of consent. Sam opened the door wider and invited the small group in. "G," Sam said, making introductions. "Mr and Mrs Taylor, Marcus's new foster parents."

"Daniel, please," Mr Taylor said politely, offering a hand to Callen.

"Callen," he responded, hiding a wince as he reached out to shake hands.

"And I'm Janice," Mrs Taylor said, shaking her head as Callen started to lift his hand towards her. "No, please. I can see you're in pain."

"My wife used to be a nurse," Mr Taylor explained.

"We've been told a little of what you did to save Marcus." Mrs Taylor had a gentle, kind voice and though she had only known Marcus a short time, she sounded as grateful as if she had been his own mother. Callen gave her a fleeting half-smile.

"Just… doing my job," he responded honestly, and looking down at Marcus, still stood shyly with the woman's hands on his shoulders he said, "Hey, mate. Good to see you… up and about."

Marcus gazed quietly back at him with wide eyes and something a little wary in his expression and Callen considered that however much he hated all the medical paraphernalia himself, how much more intimidating it must all seem to the small boy. He reached his arm towards Marcus and, gently encouraged by Mrs Taylor, the child tentatively reached out to take Callen's hand in his, a mirror occurrence of their last meeting. Callen smiled reassuringly, but the boy's eyes were still troubled. Callen hitched a sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily against a sudden bolt of pain, and when he opened them again Marcus looked terrified and was hanging on to his hand as if he'd never let go.

"You're scared?" Callen asked gently, and Marcus nodded. "Daniel and Janice… they're going to… look after you." His words didn't seem to have much effect, and Callen felt out of his depth as he looked up to where Sam and the Taylors were quietly chatting by the window, trying to give him and Marcus some privacy. "I know it's… a big change…" Callen tried again. "But it will be… okay."

Marcus nodded, and then blurted out in a sob, "Is it because of me you're hurt? Are you going to die like Daddy?" And suddenly Callen understood, and he gently pulled the boy closer.

"No, Marcus. None of this… is your fault. I promise."

"The tall man… He really scared me. Him and Daddy were shouting in that dark building, and he wouldn't let go of my arm, and I tried to get to Daddy, and then he shot him! And he was laughing, and he said he'd kill you too, and he hit me really hard." Marcus sobbed, and Callen awkwardly leant on his right elbow so he could shift closer to hug the boy clumsily with his left arm, and Marcus clung to him, sobbing into his chest. "When I woke up here, the nurses said I was safe but then the tall man was there again and I was so scared, and then you came in, and he hurt you!" Callen rubbed the boy's head, pulling him close despite the pain it caused where his drain was inserted. "What if he comes back to kill you as well, like he said?" Marcus cried.

"Marcus… I promise…" Callen coughed. "Look at me." He waited while the boy sniffled and eventually pulled back and looked directly at Callen's face. "I promise… He won't… come back."

"How do you know?" the boy whispered.

"Because," Callen said confidently, "See my big friend… Sam… over there?" Marcus briefly took his eyes off Callen and nodded. "Because Sam… has my back. He… looks out for me… just like… Daniel and Janice… will look out for you. We're both… safe now." Marcus's eyes never left Callen's as he hung off every word. Callen's breathing was laboured, but he smiled reassuringly at the boy.

"I feel safe with you," Marcus told him quietly, and Callen chuckled inwardly as he still didn't feel up to fending off a fly right now, but he rubbed Marcus's arm encouragingly.

"I'll come and visit… when you're settled."

"Today? I'm going today."

"I…" Callen faltered, and it was Mrs Taylor, over-hearing, who came to his rescue.

"Callen needs to stay here and be looked after for a little bit," she said gently to Marcus, and Callen could see in the boy's eyes every emotion he'd ever felt when he was transferred from home to home – the fear, the uncertainty, the loneliness. He'd grown hardened to it, after a while, after so many changes of places to live, and he hoped desperately that Marcus would never end up like that.

"As soon… as I can," Callen promised.


	5. Chapter 5

_Just a quick reminder that I was asked to write this story in order to make Callen suffer a bit more (poor Callen!) and unfortunately he does need to get a little bit worse in order for a later chapter to work... so sorry to readers who want to see him return to full strength, it isn't going to happen quite yet :-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

Callen fell asleep fairly soon after Marcus left to go to his new home, exhausted emotionally as well as physically and desperate for some time alone so he could drop the act he'd been putting on for Marcus and the Taylors. They had stayed for over an hour, with Marcus contentedly sitting on the bed and talking to Callen, telling him about his dad, about school and his friends, about his new bedroom he hadn't yet seen at the Taylor's house.

"It's got a lighthouse window!" he had told Callen excitedly, and Callen had smiled at the boy's innocence, all the while hoping Hetty's vetting had been thorough and Marcus wasn't in for a shattering disappointment.

Marcus had eaten most of what had arrived on Callen's lunch tray, with Callen repeatedly having to assure Daniel and Janice he really didn't mind, he wasn't hungry. He didn't think he'd ever seen hospital food disappear with such enthusiasm. He ate the jello Sam wordlessly handed to him again, and drank a carton of apple juice as well as another glass of water, and felt absolutely wiped out. Eventually, even the Taylors had picked up on his tiredness and the increasing rattle in his chest, and ushered the boy out, with assurances that Callen was welcome to visit them any time he was in the area.

"See? He'll be fine." Sam had said to Callen almost as soon as the door was closed, and wearily, admitting he had been partially if not mostly reassured meeting the Taylors, Callen had to agree. He'd visit as soon as he could, anyway. Just to be sure. Sam could drive him there in a day or two. Make sure the kid really was okay.

Sam took the opportunity while Callen was sleeping to stretch his legs in the corridor, making a quick stop at the canteen to buy some food for his own lunch. He purchased some more pots of jello for Callen, worried about how little he was eating again. Something else to discuss when the doctor did his rounds that evening. He added it to his mental list which included Callen's general exhaustion as well as the continuing difficulty he was having breathing.

Approaching Callen's room again, Sam could see that the sleep his partner was getting was anything but restful. Just as he had found him a couple of days ago, Callen appeared to be having another nightmare. With a darkening feeling of déjà vu Sam pushed open the door, dumping his bag of food on the cupboard and quickly rushing to Callen's side.

"G!" he said, urgently, keeping his voice low. "Come on, wake up. Just a dream." Callen didn't respond, and Sam reached out cautiously to gently shake his shoulder. Callen woke with a start, rising quickly to a sitting position at a speed that caused him to hiss sharply with pain, and the movement was also too rapid for his head, which started to swirl as his vision blurred. He grabbed a fistful of sheets and felt Sam adjust the pillows behind him as he raised the bed to a seated position. He clenched his teeth, struggling to take deep breaths instead of panting and feeling irritable and embarrassed as he tried to get himself back under control. Sam was checking all the tubes and wires attached to him which only increased his annoyance.

"I'll call someone," Sam said, looking concerned as Callen continued to cough and wheeze. He was ghostly pale, and he'd felt clammy and hot when Sam had touched his shoulder, but despite his obvious condition he weakly flapped a hand in Sam's direction.

"I'll get the nurse," Sam continued, ignoring his partner's stubborn dismissal. "They can give you something for it..."

"Dammit… Sam! Will you just… GO!" Callen choked out in a low, angry voice. "Why… can't you leave… me alone?" All of Sam's emotions bubbled over.

"Because you scared the shit out of me G!" he almost yelled back, feeling like grabbing his infuriating partner and giving him a good shake. "And I don't want to see them intubate you again because you're too much of a stubborn damn fool to accept a bit of help!" Callen shrank back into the pillows at the anguish in Sam's tone, all manner of emotions from anger and frustration to fear and helplessness running through him. "I'm sorry," Sam said in a cooler tone, seeing he'd rattled his partner. "I'm sorry." He rubbed his hands over his head and turned away from Callen to look out of the window as he continued. "You're not invincible, you know? When you crashed to the ground like that, in Marcus's room… I thought you were dead! You have more lives than a cat, but one of these days… I don't want to lose you, G. I don't want to turn my back and find one day you've gone, I've dropped the ball and…"

"Sam…" Callen choked, struck by his partner's depth of feeling and obligation towards him, and far from being comforted by it, he found it unsettling. "You've turned… your back… now."

Sam spun, and Callen cranked a sheepish grin at him, trying to diffuse the situation. "Goddammit G!" Sam cursed. "I'm serious!"

"I know… I'm…" Callen was halfway through a grudging apology when he was overcome by another coughing fit, causing him to hack violently and try to twist onto his side. Sam stepped forward and help Callen lean forwards and sideways as he coughed. To both their dismay, they saw blood coming from his mouth, staining the white sheets.

"I'll call someone!" Sam said again, and when this time Callen didn't protest, Sam wasn't sure if that worried him more. He watched helplessly as Callen continued to cough up blood, clutching his chest in pain, and was relieved when Callen's doctor appeared at the door.

"A little early for my rounds," the doctor said, hurriedly making his way to Callen's side. "It's as if you gentlemen can't see enough of me!" His joke fell on deaf ears as Callen was still too busy coughing and Sam wasn't in the mood for humour.

"Why is he getting worse? He hasn't coughed up blood before. Is there more damage we don't know about?" Sam demanded, but the doctor held a hand up to him, taking a folded towel from the cupboard and placing it gently on Callen's side over the site of the chest drain.

"Here," he said calmly. "Hold that there, it will make it less painful to cough. You're okay. Try and breathe deeply between coughs. I know it hurts like a bitch… it'll calm down…" Gradually, listening to the doctor, Callen's coughs diminished, to be replaced with ragged gasping breaths.

"Thanks," he managed to say between gasps, resting his head back on the pillow and shutting his eyes.

"What the hell just happened?" Sam demanded again, his protective streak going into overdrive. The doctor perched on the edge of Callen's bed, where he could see both of them, and waited until Callen's breathing had quietened.

"With a pulmonary contusion, it is not uncommon for symptoms to worsen over the first 24-48 hours. These symptoms include increased pain and difficulty breathing, as well as low blood pressure, low oxygenation in the blood, and coughing up fluids. I can see from your obs that all of this is the case." Sam nodded in concurrence.

"What do we do about it?" he asked, looking at Callen, who had his best blank expression on, unreadable even by Sam.

"Well," the doctor continued. "Unfortunately there is no treatment as such for lung contusions. All we can do is provide supportive care as we have been doing, and be patient. We have identified and are treating the broken rib and resulting hemothorax, so it is unlikely there is potential for any further injury, however I would like to order another scan this evening to compare to the one we took yesterday, just to be safe." Sam nodded, but Callen still stared vacantly into the air. "Agent Callen?" the doctor enquired. Callen turned his blank expression unwillingly to the doctor. "We will continue O2 therapy and IV fluids. I will run some more bloods to test your oxygenation levels, and as painful as it is, we will have to continue with the chest physiotherapy you started this morning. We may also have to consider suctioning to remove blood from your airways." Callen made the faintest of grimaces. "If you would consider taking some analgesia, that would help," the doctor advised gently. "The type of chest trauma you have suffered can make breathing extremely painful, but unfortunately deep breathing and coughing are essential methods of clearing unwanted secretions from your lungs. There is a high risk of pneumonia otherwise and with your lungs already compromised from the gas, that could be very serious for you."

Sam leant over and rested a hand on Callen's shoulder, his mind going back unasked to the long period of recovery Callen had battled following his near-fatal shooting all those years ago. He didn't know if it was better or worse that Callen understood many of the medical procedures related to his lung function; he had been through them all before and it was a time they both preferred to forget.

"It may help if you can position your right lung lower by lying on your right side, which will improve oxygenation in your left lung," the doctor added, getting up. "I will arrange for you to be taken down for the scans as soon as possible so that we can see exactly what we're dealing with, and I'll send the nurses along to get you cleaned up and changed…" He gestured to the blood-stained sheets. "They can also sort some pain relief for you, if you would like." Callen shook his head, ignoring the look from Sam.

"If it gets… worse…" he said, by way of negotiation.

"Okay," the doctor agreed. "Try and lie on your side as much as possible." Callen nodded.

"Trouble follows you around," Sam said, trying to be light-hearted, once the doctor had left. "You want a hand moving to your side?"

"I can do it," Callen responded between gritted teeth, starting to shunt himself gingerly around. He was feeling ill and exhausted, retreating into himself, didn't want Sam around, didn't want anybody, just wanted this whole ordeal to be over with as soon as possible. "You can… go."

"I don't doubt you can," Sam sighed. "But I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well accept the help."

"I don't… need it," Callen grunted, settling himself onto his side. "Just go. Don't… make me ask… again."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you to the guest reviewers and sorry I can't respond to you personally! To the Guest who reviewed Chap 1 and was confused about Callen's relapse, hopefully that's been made clear in the following chapters that he was injured further in his fight with Henderson. Re Mrs Briggs, Lacey, Henderson, they were all apprehended and charged so the case got fully wrapped up in the last story... so this is purely a H/C Callen thing, with a bit of a human interest angle in his relationship with the boy Marcus :-) I hope that answers your questions. Oh, and I have two more Callen/Sam stories in the pipeline (whether they will be considered 'good storylines' remains to be seen of course! ;-) Hopefully they will be ready to start publishing soon... I'm still struggling to work in a suitable ending for this one, so I might turn my focus to the new stories when I run out of written chapters to post here!)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIX**

Callen spent the night drifting in and out of a troubled sleep. Sam had reluctantly done as he'd asked and left him after he'd been taken down for the scans of his chest, but he wasn't sure if being on his own was better or worse. To distract himself from the earlier indignity of having the nurses change his bedding, help him wash and change his gown he thought of Marcus, wondering how the boy was settling in to his new home, and whether he would manage to sleep the first night in a strange bed. Consequently that night his nightmares were more intense than usual and he woke often, disorientated, panting and sweating one moment and shivering the next. Each time he woke, a nurse came enquiringly to the door, checking on him and offering pain relief and drugs to help him sleep, and each time he refused, fearing the side effects. It came as no surprise to him that his doctor made an unscheduled early visit as soon as it was morning.

"Good morning, Agent Callen," the doctor said carefully, sitting again so that Callen didn't have to strain to see him. "A difficult night?"

"Something like that," Callen muttered.

"You know we can give you something to help you rest?" the doctor suggested again, but Callen firmly shook his head. "If this carries on, I may have to over-rule you," his doctor cautioned. He paused before continuing. "I have the results of your scans following our talk yesterday evening. They show a severe contusion to the left lung, as expected. The good news is that it has only slightly worsened, not enough to cause concern, and the hemothorax is draining nicely. We'll scan again tomorrow to see if we can remove the drain." Callen looked relieved, but the doctor hadn't finished. "The bad news is the sputum test and bloods we ran yesterday show early markers of pneumonia. We will be adding antibiotics to your IV to try and knock that on the head, but they are strong and I'm afraid they will make you feel quite nauseous. We'll also have to closely monitor your oxygen levels as they are still running very low, and the pneumonia may make that worse. I am doing everything I can to avoid intubating again," he added quickly. "I will send a Respiratory Therapist around along with your Physical Therapist, and they will work together to help avoid that scenario too."

Callen nodded. "Can I get up?" he asked hoarsely. "You said… yesterday?" He thought the doctor had said yesterday. The days all ran into one here. He watched as his doctor thought for a moment.

"Where's your partner?" he eventually asked.

"Sent him home… for the night. He'll be back this morning," Callen lied, although knowing Sam it probably wasn't that much of a lie. He doubted his partner would leave him alone for long, even though he had requested it.

"When he is back and can assist you, we can look at starting to get you up and about a little bit. It may be helpful for your lungs to have a small amount of movement, but, Callen," the doctor's tone was serious, "I am sure you are aware pneumonia can be fatal, and your lungs were already compromised. You're otherwise strong and healthy but even so, you will need to take it easy for at least a week or two." Callen nodded again, clenching his teeth as his body shivered convulsively, hurting his chest. His doctor noticed and got up, offering him a reassuring look as he said, "We'll get the antibiotics started immediately, get on top of that fever you have. Try to rest."

Callen tried to find a comfortable position once the doctor had left, but the pillows propped behind him again by the nurses prevented him from rotating on to his back, and though he tried to remove them the bandage on his left bicep was too restrictive so he had to relent and remain on his side. He was fighting to stay awake and alert when he heard the door to his room opening again, and to his surprise it wasn't one of the nurses coming to sort his IV, but Kensi. He forced a smile as she rounded the bed.

"Morning!" she greeted him brightly, looking around for Sam. "I brought you guys some tea and breakfast." She placed a pair of steaming cups and a takeaway food bag on the cabinet next to him.

"Why… are you here?" Callen grunted, without acknowledgement.

"To bring you breakfast," she replied slowly, sitting in the chair the doctor had recently vacated and studying his face. "I was passing on my way in... are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He paused. "I told Hetty…" He stopped, aware he was being rude.

"Told Hetty what?" Kensi asked as she looked at him uneasily. "You know, you really don't look so good."

"No visitors."

"She didn't say anything… Is that why Sam's not here?"

"I sent him home," Callen admitted. "Mother hen."

"He's just worried about you."

"Yeah." Callen sighed. "I can look after… myself."

They were interrupted by the nurse coming in with a syringe which she injected into the cannula in the back of his hand.

"These will get started quickly," she explained gently, taking his obs and hanging a new IV bag. "Can I get you anything else?" Callen shook his head. "Keep drinking plenty," the nurse advised. "It'll help flush the infection through quicker."

Callen tried again to shift the pillows once the nurse had gone so that he could sit up and drink, but once again he couldn't quite get his injured arm far enough behind him.

"Can look after yourself, huh?" Kensi said teasingly, moving the pillows for him and trying to hide her concern as she watched him painfully shift over onto his back before he pressed the buttons to raise the bed.

"Don't start."

"Fine, fine." She raised her hands in mock surrender. "You want the tea, or something cold? Water, apple juice?"

"Tea's good," he said grudgingly, accepting the offered cardboard cup. "Thanks," he added belatedly.

"No problem. I know the muck they serve here isn't up to much. Got you a breakfast muffin and a donut in there too," she said, smiling at him as she nodded over at the bag on the side, and despite his irritable mood Callen smiled back. "I guess you're pretty fed up to be back here again," Kensi said sympathetically.

"Don't do that," Callen said warningly.

"Do what?"

"You wanna stay and… chat, fine. But don't try… getting… inside my head."

"Callen… I wasn't!" Kensi was apologetic, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to him and rubbing his arm. There was something desperate and sad about him, even aside from the pain he was clearly in, that she didn't understand. "Look I'm sorry. You want to talk about something else? Or shall I go?"

"Stay," Callen said hesitantly, unsure after his earlier rude behaviour that she would want to. Kensi's bright smile radiated warmth in the dull room, and he had to admit having someone to talk to was a welcome distraction from the pain in his chest and the nightmares that tried to rear their ugly head every time he shut his eyes. He half listened as Kensi took the second cup of tea and started to tell him about the firearms training day she and Deeks had been sent on yesterday, but once he had finished his tea, his fever and the turbulent night he'd had caught up with him and he drifted back to sleep.

When he woke up again, Kensi was gone, but Hetty and Sam were sitting on the two chairs under the window, talking in low voices so as not to disturb him. They both stopped and looked at him when he shifted on the bed, slowly rotating from his back to his side to take the pressure off his injured rib. He wasn't sure who was expending more effort; himself carefully moving, or Sam staying firmly seated and resisting the urge to come and help him, but eventually he settled into the new position, and moved the folded towel to hold over his left side as he took a couple of deep breaths and coughs to ease his lungs.

"Kensi gone?" he asked after a while.

"Didn't know she was here," Sam said with a degree of surprise. Callen turned to Hetty.

"I told you," he said. "No visitors."

"Ms Blye was at a training day yesterday," Hetty said calmly. "I haven't yet seen her."

"Could have sent a text," Callen muttered grumpily, though in the end Kensi's visit hadn't been so bad, and he could tell Hetty knew he was just being stubborn, which didn't make him any less ill-tempered.

"Someone got out the wrong side of bed this morning," Sam chided, though it turned out to be the worst thing he could have said.

"Getting out at all… would be a fine thing," Callen responded tetchily, glaring at Sam.

"Gentlemen…" Hetty said warningly.

"It's a fair point. Sorry G," Sam conceded, looking for signs to understand his partner's particularly bad mood, but as usual when he felt vulnerable Callen was a closed book, and he wasn't letting Sam in. "Look… if you want me to go, I'll go. We just came to check in with you and your doctor after he left a message saying you'd had a rough night."

"I thought you would appreciate knowing I had a message from the Taylors this morning," Hetty informed him. Callen raised his eyebrows. "Marcus is quiet, but he is fine; he slept well and he is apparently looking forward to being taken back to his father's house today to collect some of his own things. I am sure having his familiar toys will help him feel settled in his new home." Callen nodded, a lump momentarily in his throat stopping him speaking.

"You okay?" Sam couldn't help himself, standing and crossing to the bed. He could see his cantankerous partner was struggling with more than just his physical condition and wanted to be there for him, wanted to not let Callen push him away.

"Fine," Callen said gruffly. "That's good news…"

"I will take you to see him as soon as possible," Sam assured him.

"That a promise?" Callen asked, starting to slur as his high temperature and tiredness once again caught up with him.

"Of course," Sam stated, touching his shoulder briefly. "Get some rest."


	7. Chapter 7

_Things start to get better soon for Callen, I promise!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

It was late afternoon by the time Callen woke again, sweating and shivering from the fever caused by the pneumonia. He felt nauseous as soon as he opened his eyes and so he shut them again, curling miserably on his side.

"Hey," he heard Sam say softly. "Feeling pretty crap, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Callen admitted, without opening his eyes.

"Your fever is still spiking, and you slept straight through your PT appointment. I'm under orders to make you do your breathing exercises as soon as you wake up." Sam felt wary, unusually unsure of how to behave around Callen with the turbulent mood swings he'd been displaying recently, but he pressed on. "Look, they can give you something for the sickness and the pain. You know the drill, you gotta keep breathing and coughing. You know the alternatives are pretty unpleasant..." Callen frowned. He didn't need reminding.

"For the sickness then," he eventually conceded, and Sam pressed the call button. He spoke quietly on Callen's behalf to the nurse who arrived, and she went away to prepare the necessary drugs. When she came back, Callen was still curled protectively on his side with his eyes shut, breathing shallowly to try and control the nausea he was feeling.

"Agent Callen?" the nurse spoke quietly, bending down, and placing her hand on Callen's forehead to feel his temperature. "I've got some anti-sickness medication I can inject into your IV, and in a moment I'd also like you to take these tablets to help bring your temperature down." Callen grunted his consent, and the nurse gently took his right hand to inject the anti-nausea medicine. "We'll give that a minute or two to start working," she said. "Your doctor was happy for me to remove the catheter this morning, if you felt able to get up to use the bathroom? Would you still like me to do that?" Callen opened his eyes and nodded. The nurse ushered Sam out of the room for the procedure, inviting him back in once it was done so she could explain to both of them about disconnecting the heart rate monitor and moving the IV pole and chest drain to the bathroom. "The oxygen tube will be long enough," she explained, and Sam nodded, feeling apprehensive about how Callen was going to cope moving around with so many things attached to him. He wouldn't put it past his partner to rip them all out in a stubborn outburst, though Callen didn't look as though he had the strength to be concerned about it all at the moment.

"Why's he so out of it?" Sam asked the nurse quietly. It wasn't like Callen to be so impassive, and it worried Sam. Normally he'd be fighting tooth and nail to be getting up and going home.

"He's got a really high fever, and his oxygen levels are still pretty low," the nurse told him. "Some gentle movement will be good for his lungs, but keep an eye on him. If his oxygen levels or blood pressure drops he could collapse again."

"I am right here," Callen huffed quietly. "I'm fine."

"Do you feel well enough to sit up and take these tablets?" the nurse asked him. "They will help bring your fever down so you should feel better." Callen grunted again, but started to cautiously raise his head and shoulders, waiting to see if his stomach rebelled at the movement. All seemed fine, so he made it all the way up, and Sam raised the bed and rearranged his pillows so he could sit comfortably. He nodded his thanks, taking the tablets and the glass of water offered by the nurse and swallowing them warily.

"Thanks," he said quietly, when it was obvious they were going to stay down.

"You missed lunch," the nurse told him. Callen made a face. "I'll bring you some toast; it would be good for you to try and eat something. And keep drinking - I want to see this emptied this afternoon." She tapped the water jug on her way out, and ever one to follow orders, Sam rose and refilled Callen's glass immediately.

"Still no beer?"

"I'll buy you one as soon as you get out of here," Sam promised. "When," he continued firmly, seeing Callen start to consider potential loopholes, "Only when you have been properly discharged. Not before."

"You said two days," Callen said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "It's been… two days."

"Ut-huh," Sam said. "I said two days when you woke up. Which wasn't until the evening. It's only 4pm now. And besides, that was before you landed yourself with a fever on top of everything else."

"Because of," Callen grumbled. "Because of everything else…. Not my fault." He took a deep breath, exhausted.

"Get some more rest," Sam told him, feeling like a broken record.

"Not tired," Callen replied stubbornly.

"Okay, have something to eat."

"Not hungry either."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a difficult patient?" Sam asked rhetorically.

"All the time… Can you find out… how Marcus is?"

"G…" Sam looked at him worriedly, his pleasure to see the return of Callen's half-hearted banter for the moment forgotten. "Hetty told you earlier… We had a message from the Taylors this morning. He's been quiet, but fine." Sam paraphrased their earlier conversation with concern, not missing the momentary confusion on Callen's face.

"Right," Callen said, recovering his composure. "Guess I am tired… after all."

"And feverish, and hurting, and grumpy," Sam muttered, settling himself on the chair.

"Are we talking about me… or you?"

"I'm fine – but I'm glad to see your sense of humour is still intact," Sam said sarcastically. He looked worriedly over at Callen who was fidgeting uncomfortably on the bed. "What's up?"

"I think I need the bathroom," Callen replied with embarrassment.

"Great," Sam rolled his eyes. He'd hoped they'd have had more of an interval for the drugs to work before nature called. "You sure you can get up?"

"Guess we'll find out… You gonna help or not?" Callen said tetchily, frustrated and taking it out on Sam again. He waited awkwardly while Sam moved the blankets and helped him swing his legs round so he could sit on the side of the bed, and then used more of Sam's support than he wanted to in order to make his slow way to the bathroom. Even his legs felt shaky and weak and he had to concede he was in a pretty poor state of health. The reflection in the bathroom mirror looked back at him tiredly, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with fever. He mentally shook his head, concentrating on keeping his movements slow and careful to keep the dizziness and nausea at bay. He made it back to his bed and sank thankfully into the pillows, not liking how exhausted and weak he felt. Worn out, he dozed on and off, but he could feel his fever spiking despite the medication as the day wore on, and the prickly heat on his skin itched as he sweated. Sam sat quietly in the chair watching him, helpless to do anything but wanting to be there anyway. He tried to engage Callen in some gentle banter a few times when he was awake, wanting to distract him from the pain and nausea, but his fever was climbing and Sam ended up just feeling more worried at Callen's lack of ability to hold a conversation.

His doctor's visit that evening was brief. His fever was still high, and his oxygen levels still low. Callen listened listlessly to the doctor reassuring them both that they were doing all they could, and he just needed to rest and wait it out. He didn't even have the energy to complain when the doctor called the nurse in to take more bloods. She administered a top up of the anti-nausea medicine but Callen still couldn't face eating anything on his dinner time meal tray.

"I'll stay tonight," Sam said in a low voice to the doctor, as they stood in the doorway watching Callen curl protectively again on his side, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe deeply.

"I think that would be best," the doctor agreed. "Hopefully tonight will see the worst of his fever, but he's likely to have quite a disturbed night again I'm afraid. Get him to drink as much as he can, we can't push much more through his IV and he needs to stay hydrated. And persuade him to take some painkillers if you can, I know he struggles with them but we can top up the anti-nausea drugs and his chest will be very painful right now. He doesn't need to suffer this much. I'll leave the prescriptions open so he only has to ask."

"He won't," Sam said, "but thanks."


	8. Chapter 8

_Things start to improve for Callen now... he needed to get worse in order for this chapter to work, but he'll be through the worst of it by the time you get to the end of this :-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

"Ted, NO!" Callen screamed into the darkness. "Marcus… Ted, no…!"

Sam leapt from his chair as if he'd been shot, crossing in one quick stride to the bed where Callen was twisting and thrashing violently in his sheets, in danger of ripping the chest drain and the IV out. He pulled the light cord, and grabbed hold of Callen's shoulders, trying to gently restrain him and prevent him from hurting himself any more.

"G!" he said, urgently. "G, buddy, wake up." Callen was boiling to the touch, his fever at its peak. Sam pressed the call button, and stripped the covers down to Callen's hips, trying to keep the tubing of the chest drain in place as Callen struggled against the demons in his dreams. "Callen!" he all but shouted. Whether he was getting through to Callen's fever-wracked brain, or his hand on the site of the chest drain caused him pain, Callen finally stopped struggling and opened glazed confused eyes. The night shift doctor opened the door and hurried in, looking enquiringly at Sam who still had one hand on Callen's shoulder and the other on the chest drain.

"Problem?" he asked economically. Sam kept looking at Callen, though he directed his answer to the doctor.

"He was having a nightmare. Pretty bad. Thrashing… I don't know if he's pulled this thing out."

"Let me check," the doctor said, standing on the other side of the bed from Sam and moving the pillows so Callen could lie flat on his back. "Agent Callen," he said. "I need to have a look at your chest drain. Can you lie still please so I can lift your gown?" Sam wasn't sure how conscious Callen was, so he was relieved when he saw him nod consent.

"You got this, G," he said reassuringly, knowing that with Callen not fully aware of his surroundings the presence of a different doctor touching him could well send him over the edge. "We're gonna try not to hurt you, but we just need to check the drain." Sam wasn't sure if his words were making any difference at all but he kept talking anyway as he helped Callen move onto his back. The doctor gently lifted Callen's gown, and peeled back the dressing covering the tube inserted between his ribs.

"It's still in place," he said with relief. "I'll ask a nurse to come in and re-dress it. I'll get him some more Motrin too; he's due and it'll help the fever. Is he going to stay calm? I can give him a sedative if he's going to panic again. We can't risk his adrenaline going up that high."

"Thanks, but I've got it," Sam said. "You'll make him worse if you sedate him, believe me. I'll keep him calm." Sam kept talking to Callen quietly when the nurse arrived and gently but efficiently sorted his dressing out. Callen seemed still drowsy, but he obediently swallowed the offered tablets with a glass of water held by Sam. The doctor was reassured that Sam had his patient under control, and left with the nurse.

"You with me, G?" Sam asked once they were alone.

"I… Sam?"

"I'm here."

"Shit." Callen winced as he moved.

"You okay?" Callen nodded, and Sam was relieved to see lucidity in his face again after the haze that had been present when he first woke up. "Pretty intense dreams, huh?"

"I guess so."

"You want to tell me about it?" Sam asked, moving the chair next to Callen and sitting down.

"I…" Callen baulked.

"I'm not gonna judge, G. If you don't want to share, that's cool. But something's obviously bugging you. To do with Marcus? Who is Ted?"

Callen was silent a long time, weighing things up while Sam waited patiently next to him. He felt like he was at a massive crossroads – did he trust Sam enough to break down some of the barriers he had built around himself? Could he bear the thought of anyone, even Sam, knowing just a little of what he went through as a child? Would they see him differently, see him as a victim? He wasn't sure, although he was almost certain Hetty knew what his nightmare had been about, at least the gist of it, so why not Sam too. He trusted Sam as much as Hetty, as much as he trusted anyone, didn't he? He felt like his relationship with Sam would subtly change, and not for the better, if he shut down and refused to talk, and so in the end, and with some reluctance, he began to share.

 _He was seven. About to move into his sixth foster home. He didn't understand why the previous people hadn't wanted him to stay. He had done nothing wrong, at least, he thought he had done nothing wrong. They all had so many different rules. He would do better to stick to the rules this time, keep his head down, keep out of trouble. Live quietly on the outside of things, like a ghost._

 _His social worker pulled the car up outside a middle sized house in a smart looking street. Lots of neat little front yards, dogs yapping behind fences, children playing on immaculate green lawns. Idyllic family suburbia. But Callen, even at the tender age of seven, felt hardened to it. Five foster homes in less than two years. Already the wariness and distrust of others that would shape his adult life had started to form. He walked up the front path behind the social worker, clutching his small bag that contained everything he owned._

 _He was greeted by a friendly looking woman who had two other children clinging to her, and he still clearly remembered that tiny flickering of hope, that this home might be different. He might have a future here, be looked after._

 _He was shown to his room, which he was to share with one other boy, a nine year old called Ted. They each had a bed, and a small table and chair, and shared a chest of drawers for their clothes. It wasn't a big room, but comfortable. The window overlooked the back yard, and Callen remembered the excitement of looking out and seeing the large wooden play structure, shaped like a boat, with a swing and a slide, and a small den up the top._

 _This was the home that taught him never again to get his hopes up, ever. It started slowly, a negative word here, a reprimand there. A feeling of always being on edge and having to watch his back. His foster father's behaviour was often erratic, and Callen quickly learnt to keep out of his way. His foster mother, though pleasant, seemed to spend very little time at the house, leaving the three young boys to fend for themselves. He was the youngest, then Ted, and the oldest, a ten year old called Alex, took charge. Their foster father would often end up on the rampage, for anything from the house being a mess to the boys making a noise as they played. Callen took to hiding quietly in the den at the top of the wooden climbing frame in the garden._

 _One day, he heard his foster father yelling and crashing about in the house, throwing furniture around and shouting, cursing. Callen realised the man was looking for him, and he pressed himself into the darkest corner of the climbing frame den, hoping he would remain undiscovered._

 _It was Ted who gave him up. Their foster father gave the boy a crack across his jaw that knocked the boy sideways, demanding to know where Callen was, and sobbing, desperately trying to run away, Ted blurted out how Callen liked to hide in the den._

 _Callen wasn't quick enough to sneak out and find a new place to hide. Just as he was squeezing out of the doorway of the little hidey hole at the top of the frame, ready to climb down the ladder, his foster father grabbed him, and flung him to the ground. He heard the bone in his leg snap, and he screamed in agony, and blacked out._

 _He didn't remember anything after that, until he woke up in the hospital, alone._

"My leg was in traction for six weeks," Callen told Sam quietly. "I was stuck in that bed… in that room… for six weeks. No visitors. And when I got out… I was moved to a new home again."

Sam didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand how anyone could treat a kid that way. He knew Callen's childhood hadn't been easy, had suspected there'd been abuse along the way; there had to have been, with all those changes of homes on his file. But it was something Callen never talked about, and so he had blocked it from his mind. Callen was Callen, his past shaped him but wasn't who he was, and Sam took him as the man in front of him, a top class agent and loyal to a fault to those very special few he invited in to his carefully built walls. Sam spent a lot of time only hoping he was worthy of such loyalty, and doing his best to return it.

"I'm sorry, G," he said eventually.

"It was a long… time ago," Callen said dismissively, but his shaky sigh told Sam more than his words.

"You were the same age as Marcus," Sam observed gently.

"I guess I was."

"Get some rest, G."


	9. Chapter 9

_So I'm going away for a week, and I don't think we'll have any wifi...! (Seriously, who doesn't have wifi lol) I'm going to be working on finishing this story as well as progressing my other two, but I don't think I will be able to upload any more chapters! I'm super kind though, and will put up two now before I go. I haven;t had time to properly edit them, so hopefully they are okay!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER NINE**

Callen wasn't sure if sharing his nightmare with Sam helped, or if he were just now so exhausted that sleep would come no matter what, but when he and Sam finished talking, he fell asleep and stayed asleep for over five hours – a record for him even on a good day. He woke up feeling at least partially rested and yawned, feeling the now familiar aches and pains in his battered body as he carefully stretched, but he noted with relief that his fever was on the way out this morning. He heard the nurses in the corridor preparing for shift change and figured it must be coming up to 7am. Sure enough, soon one of the day nurses came in to take his obs, moving quietly so as not to disturb Sam who was still sleeping in the chair. She asked what he wanted for breakfast, her mouth forming a grim line when he said he wasn't hungry, but she didn't argue and left as quietly as she'd come in. Sam stirred when Callen coughed.

"Sorry," Callen said hoarsely, clearing his throat again and pressing the buttons to raise the head of the bed a little more. He found it easier to breathe if he was closer to sitting, though it aggravated the painful bruising round the back of his ribcage from his fight with Henderson. He'd move on to his side when it got intolerable but his instinctive preference to be able to see the door won out over the discomfort. Sam stood up, stretching, looking his partner up and down.

"No problem. You get some sleep in the end?"

"Like a baby."

"Feeling better?" Callen knew Sam wasn't just talking about his fever.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Thanks."

"Any time, G. I mean that." Sam didn't know how to convey to his solitary partner that he would always be there for him.

"Thank you," Callen said quietly. They were companionably silent for a while. Sam wordlessly helped him get up and go to the bathroom, knowing Callen would never ask. When he got back into bed, Callen made an effort with his breathing exercises. Sam watched him carefully for a few minutes before he walked to the window and stood looking out. The room was the other side of the corridor this time, a different view out over the hospital courtyard. A couple of trees, some benches, the table and chairs where they'd eaten last week. A more healing view than the grey car park. Sam wondered if Callen would be well enough to sit in the chair and look out the window today. Callen was always happier if he could see the sky. It wasn't quite the clear sky and golden sands of the beach, but better than nothing, maybe. He wished like hell he could get Callen out of there, especially now he knew his partner's reasons for struggling so much being confined to a bed in a hospital stemmed right back to a traumatic experience in his childhood. He didn't know what he could do to make it better.

"Nice view?" Callen asked eventually, interrupting Sam's thoughts. He realised he had been vacantly staring out of the window for some time.

"Just wondering if you wanted to sit here later," he said diffidently, gesturing to the chair, realising what he was offering was pretty feeble when he knew that all Callen really wanted was to go home.

"Not much else to do," Callen muttered. Last week at least he'd had the case to ponder, though as his brain still felt so sluggish he could barely remember what day of the week it was, he doubted he'd be of much use doing anything at the moment. "Haven't you got to work?" he asked suddenly, feeling guilty at how much time Sam was spending with him. He'd been pretty ungrateful for a whole chunk of it too, he remembered uncomfortably.

"It's the weekend. In any event, I've got plenty of time owing," Sam reassured him. "I've been working on case reports when you've been resting anyway."

"Guess I need to do mine… for the Henderson case."

"I think Hetty will allow you a few days grace," Sam winked.

"Maybe… This is Hetty we're talking about. She thinks any time… I'm laid up… I'll catch up on… paperwork."

"Ribs?" Sam asked, noticing Callen start to struggle with a longer speech.

"Yeah…"

"Let me help you move onto your side for a bit," Sam said. Callen bristled, wanting to tell Sam he was fine and he could manage, but he saw the concern deep in the brown eyes and allowed himself to be helped gently over. Sam positioned the pillows back behind him so he could rest. Callen moved his right hand absent-mindedly to clamp over the site of the chest drain. "Is that sore?" Sam asked.

"A little… uncomfortable, I guess."

Sam leant down to look at the sealed drain unit on the floor under the bed. "I'm no medic," he said, trying to give Callen hope, "But that's looking pretty good to me. Doesn't look like much is coming from it any more."

"Good," Callen said shortly, saving his breath.

There was a knock at the door and it was immediately opened. Callen looked to Sam for reassurance, unable to see who it was, and Sam gave the slightest of nods. It continually amazed and frustrated him how Callen could be so stubborn and independent one minute, yet turn to Sam for support the next; but Sam tried to take it as it was, an independent man with many reasons not to trust having the faith to rely on Sam to have his back when it was necessary.

"Morning Hetty," Sam said, and Callen relaxed.

"Morning, Mr Hanna, Mr Callen," Hetty greeted them both, rounding the bed and sitting on the chair nearest it so she could peer intently at her ailing charge. "How are we doing today?"

"Temperature is down, blood pressure is up. Lung draining well," Sam replied on Callen's behalf. "Why do I get the feeling you already know all this?"

"I cannot imagine. How are you feeling, Mr Callen?"

"Getting there," Callen said economically. "Any word on Marcus?"

"All fine, and asking after you again."

"Seems you've got a new little friend there, G," Sam said with a smile.

"Think he's still scared Henderson will finish the job."

"Ah. Is that what you were talking about with him the other day?" Sam enquired. Callen nodded.

"He saw the guy kill his dad… and threaten…"

"To kill you?"

"Yeah."

"That will explain why he wants to see you again," Hetty surmised. "The Taylors assured me you have an open invitation to visit whenever you like." She and Sam didn't miss the hopeful glimmer flicker across Callen's eyes, quickly extinguished as reality hit.

"G… you can't. Not today," Sam said, with regret and worry.

"You need to rest up, Mr Callen," Hetty added. Callen felt the feelings of anger stir again, but he knew deep down Sam and Hetty were just concerned for him, and moreover he knew they were right. He wasn't in any shape to leave his room, never mind the hospital, and that knowledge made him more angry than anything. He concentrated on fiddling with the sheet in his hand to avoid lashing out at them both again.

"I will take you to see him as soon as possible," Sam reiterated his promise. He couldn't help but feel Callen's mental well-being was intrinsically linked with that of the boy at the moment.

"I have spoken to your doctor," Hetty said after a pause.

"I knew it," Sam muttered.

"He has booked you in for another scan later today to be certain but he is confident your hemothorax has healed sufficiently to have the drain removed this evening."

"Well that's a step in the right direction," Sam looked encouragingly at Callen with a smug 'I told you I was right' expression, and Callen smirked back at him.

"Tell me that means I can go home," he said, without quite managing to hide the desperation in his voice.

"You still need a lot of rest, Mr Callen."

"I can rest at home… Hetty…" Callen tried not to plead.

"Hetty, a word…" Sam said in a low voice, nodding towards the door.

"You can talk in front of me, you know," Callen said grumpily. "I'm not a child."

"Sometimes you act like one," Sam shot back. Callen rolled his eyes.

"Walked right into that one, didn't I…"

"You did… I was going to suggest, if your doctor agreed, you came and stayed with Michelle and me for a bit…" Sam said carefully.

"An idea worth considering, Mr Hanna," Hetty replied, inspecting Callen's face carefully. He'd stayed with Sam in similar situations before, but she knew he never liked to impose, and as she expected she could see he felt awkward at the suggestion. "I think it is unlikely you will be able to go home on your own just yet, but I am happy to support Mr Hanna's kind offer with your doctor if you are agreeable." She left Callen little room for manoeuvre, and he knew it. It was either Sam's place, or staying in the hospital, so after looking carefully from Hetty to Sam and then down at the sheets, he nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

Callen shifted uncomfortably in the darkness, taking a moment or two to remember where he was. It was darker and quieter than he'd come to be used to of late. Sam's house. Sam's study, on the pull out sofa bed that had been upgraded from the worn old couch when he had come to stay not all that long ago to recuperate from the Spiral virus. He seemed to have spent a large amount of time recuperating in Sam's house, what with one thing and another. Sam and Michelle assured him they didn't mind, repeatedly, but it never stopped him feeling like he was imposing on their family and in their home. And this time they had to tolerate the quietly whirring temporary oxygen machine as well. It, along with the tubing that reached round much of the ground floor of the house, had been installed yesterday, while he remained impatiently in the hospital, having the strong antibiotics forced into him via his IV. At least he was finally now rid of that, he thought, itching the plaster on the back of his hand absent-mindedly.

True to her word, Hetty had arranged with his doctor on his evening rounds the day before yesterday, following the removal of the chest drain after the positive scan results, that he could finish the rest of his recovery at Sam's house, but it had taken the whole of the next day to put everything into place, including Callen finishing another 24 hours of the nauseating antibiotics. The follow up oral dose so far wasn't having quite the same effect on him, and he'd managed a small 'meal' of toast and a banana when he finally arrived at Sam's house yesterday evening, before retiring exhausted to the sofa bed for the night. He didn't like to think too much of the traumatic car ride back to Sam's. The hospital had offered an ambulance but Callen had flatly refused. The Challenger, however, wasn't geared towards patient comfort. He'd managed a half-hearted joke cautioning Sam to be careful not to crash and blow them up with the two portable oxygen tanks stowed in the boot, but had spent the rest of the ride with his eyes shut and his jaw clamped tight in pain despite Sam's careful driving.

He still wasn't wearing his watch, but he could see the faintest glimpse of light around the edges of the curtains. Undoubtedly Sam would bounce through the door at 6am sharp with his meds, ever the attentive nurse. Callen felt grateful and uncomfortably awkward in roughly equal amounts. It felt like all Sam was doing at the moment, and by extension now Michelle too, was taking care of him. He hated to feel a burden.

He sighed, rolling onto his side to ease the pain in the back of his ribcage. Now that the crippling fever from the pneumonia had passed, he was starting to feel stronger again. The bruising to his heart had also mostly subsided and his blood pressure was gradually creeping back to a more normal range. Apart from the pain in his broken rib, the most debilitating symptom now was still his shortness of breath caused by the low oxygenation in his blood. His doctor hadn't been able to confirm how long he'd continue to need the oxygen therapy for. He adjusted the tube in his nose with irritation, debating whether to remove it for a bit, but he decided the wrath of Sam, or worse, Michelle, wasn't worth the risk on only his first morning here, and so he concentrated instead on his breathing exercises while he was comfortable on his side. At least at Sam's house lying on his right side meant he could see the door.

As he had suspected it wasn't long before the door in question opened, a cursory knock announcing Sam's arrival.

"Morning," Sam said, noting with approval Callen lying on his side and doing his exercises.

"Morning yourself," Callen replied, pushing himself up so he was sitting, leaning back against the wall.

"Comfortable enough?" Sam asked, gesturing to the bed. "Did you sleep?"

"It's fine, Sam," Callen assured him.

"I've got your morning meds," Sam said, unnecessarily Callen thought, for he could see the glass of juice and box of tablets in Sam's hands. Sam put the items down and rounded to the window, drawing the curtains slightly to allow the daylight to brighten the small room. Callen squinted a little; he still had a dull headache most of the time, though it was better since he'd got out of the hospital and away from all the constant noise and bustle.

"Thanks." Sam looked at him suspiciously, checking for signs of sarcasm. "What?"

"You're being way too cooperative," Sam teased, a grin forming on his face.

"Wouldn't want to upset Mother Hen 1 and… Mother Hen 2 now, would I?"

"How are you feeling? Honestly?" Sam sat on his desk chair, passing Callen the tablets and the juice, which he took without complaint. He hoped Sam had missed the way his hand trembled slightly as he took the glass.

"Better. Honestly," he added, seeing Sam's sceptical look.

"We'll see," Sam muttered, drawing out a thermometer, blood pressure cuff and oximeter from a box on the desk. Callen rolled his eyes.

"The attractiveness of the nurses has… gone downhill in this hospital," he teased, panting a little which Sam noted with pursed lips and a frown.

"I'll tell Michelle you said that. Now open your mouth like a good little patient." Reluctantly, Callen obeyed, feeling Sam was rather too cheerful about this nursing lark as he shoved the thermometer under Callen's tongue, and used the time since Callen couldn't protest to wrap the cuff round his arm and clip the oximeter on his finger to check his blood pressure and oxygen levels.

"And?" Callen challenged, when Sam was done.

"Oxygen is still low, but temp and BP aren't too bad," Sam admitted, starting to believe Callen was telling the truth that he was indeed feeling better.

"I told you."

"Yeah… but you told me you were fine when you woke up with five bullet holes in you. Told ME to go home and rest because I looked like crap."

"Well, you did."

"At least I wasn't wrapped in bandages like some crazy Halloween mummy."

"Fair point." Changing the topic, he asked cheekily, "What's the plan for today, Nurse Sam? Are you gonna… let me get up? If I have to spend another day in bed…"

"You'll get the rest you need," Sam interrupted. Callen glared at him. "Yeah, you can get up. WITH help. Don't make me get Nurse Michelle, or worse, Nurse Hetty, on your case. Until those oxygen levels pick up you're at a high risk of dizziness and fainting, and I do NOT want to have to scoop you up off the floor again, you hear me?"

"Like you're gonna let me forget it," Callen muttered.

"Michelle is sorting breakfast. You want to shower first?"

"I guess so," Callen replied, awkward again.

"G," Sam said, sensing it. "It's not a problem. Let me help you." Callen nodded, swallowing his pride as Sam helped him up with a gentleness that was deceptive from the size and strength of him. Sam held his right arm firmly while he stumbled to the shower room, and helped him clean up and dress in sweat pants and a fresh t-shirt. Although he hated that he still needed the oxygen, it felt good to wear clothes again, almost as good as it felt to be out of the hospital, to not be bothered incessantly with people checking up on him and…

"How are you doing this morning, Callen?" Michelle asked him cheerily as Sam helped him walk to the kitchen and sit at the table.

"Good, thanks," he answered politely.

"Can I get you a tea, coffee? Juice? How about some breakfast?"

"Just… tea. Thanks."

Sam looked at him sternly. "You need to eat something too, G."

"Give him a few minutes," his wife said to him quietly, noticing how worn out Callen was from getting up and showering. Callen smiled at her gratefully.

"Well you two have clearly got this covered," Sam said. "I'm nipping out for a quick run and a shower. You," he turned bossily to Callen, "don't move til I get back. Eat something. And don't annoy Michelle."

The room seemed quiet when Sam had gone, except for Callen's laboured breathing as he sipped the hot tea, holding the mug in both hands with his elbows resting on the table. Michelle moved about her kitchen, keeping a surreptitious eye on him, before finally sitting opposite him with a bowl of granola and fruit.

"He's worried about you," she said, watching him as she ate.

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure you will be. But let him indulge a little in his over-protectiveness. He still feels like he let you down, with the gas, and Henderson."

"Michelle…." Callen was at a loss for words. "He saved my life."

"You know what he's like. He wanted to save you from all this…" she gestured to the oxygen tubing. "He wasn't quick enough. He feels guilty."

"He saved my life," Callen repeated stubbornly. "I owe him."

"Yeah… Just like you'll save his life, next time. And he'll owe you again." Callen pondered on that for a moment.

"Neither of us owe anything," he said eventually. "Happy? No guilt. Tell him to… stop worrying."

Michelle chuckled. "I can try," she said with a smile tugging at her lips and twinkling in her eyes. "But you and I both know, he'll never stop worrying. Deal with it."


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Sam couldn't help but smile when he walked back into the kitchen, refreshed after his run and a shower, to see Callen obediently eating a slice of toast. To be fair, he was picking at it rather than eating with enthusiasm, but it was a start. And although he was now alone, he was still sitting where Sam had left him.

"Hey," Callen greeted him. "Feeling better?"

"Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?"

"I think enough people have asked how I am feeling… to last a lifetime." Called sighed, pushing the half-finished toast away. Try as he might, his appetite was still deserting him.

"I'll make you some more later," Sam reassured him, and Callen was relieved that Sam wasn't pushing him.

"You don't have to…" he began, and then remembered his conversation with Michelle and broke off. "Thanks. Maybe once I've been up for a bit…" he shrugged, unconcerned. His eating habits had never been particularly healthy anyway, not like Sam's. He ate when he felt hungry, which sometimes meant snacking unhealthily, and sometimes not eating at all if he was distracted on a case. It was only when he was with Sam that he tended to sit down and eat a proper meal.

"It's still better than nothing," Sam said. "Better than the hospital food you didn't eat, anyway."

"Anything is," Callen agreed, placing his hands flat on the table and breathing hard to combat a particularly sharp pain in his chest. "Even… Michelle's… casserole…" he panted out, giving Sam a cheeky wink. Sam rolled his eyes and waited until Callen had things back under control.

"You want to visit Marcus this morning?" he offered. "The Taylors would be happy to see you. Offered us lunch."

"You rang them?" Callen asked. Sam nodded. "How's Marcus?"

"He's fine. He's looking forward to seeing you again, talks about you every day."

"It'll pass," Callen said, feeling a little embarrassed at the hero worship Marcus appeared to be bestowing on him.

"Well?"

"I…" Callen paused awkwardly. "Not… not today, Sam." Sam looked confused.

"I thought you'd be chomping at the bit to check up on him."

"I am. I mean, I want to…. I just…" he paused again. Why was it so hard to say how he felt? He felt Sam's eyes intently on him, waiting for an answer.

"You don't want them to see you like this," Sam said, comprehension dawning upon him. He reached out and placed a hand on Callen's shoulder, feeling the tension trembling in his muscles. "It's okay. No one minds. Marcus just wants to see you." But Callen shook his head. "Another day then," Sam said lightly, not pressuring him. He squeezed Callen's shoulder and got up, rummaging in one of the cupboards and coming back out with a Tootsie Pop. "Here," he said, and grateful for Sam's understanding, Callen accepted his favourite sweet with a smirk.

"So you do love me after all."

"Just want some peace and quiet," Sam teased. "Seeing as you can't suck that, breathe and talk all at the same time." Callen made a face, though he had to concede Sam was right. For a while neither of them spoke, content in each other's company. Sam made himself a coffee and sat at the table with Callen while he finished the lolly, making a concerted effort not to watch his partner too closely. He was still finding it hard not to repeatedly relive the moment Callen crashed to the floor in front of him, but he knew too much concern would only irritate his partner, and Sam desperately wanted Callen to feel relaxed enough to continue his recuperation where he had the care of Sam and his family. At the moment, he knew as much as Callen hated it, he recognised he still needed the support, but the time would come when he'd bolt and Sam wanted to delay that moment as long as he could. Eventually he spoke again, anxious after Callen's refusal to go and visit Marcus about the news he now had to break.

"Kamran will be home again later today." He watched Callen's face carefully as he continued. "She's been on a school trip. She'll be at school during the day the rest of the week, but if you don't want her around while you're staying here we can arrange for her to go to her Grandma's…"

"You can't kick her out of… her own home… because of me," Callen said, appalled at the suggestion.

"Hardly kicking her out, G, it's Michelle's mother! It's up to you. She knows you're here, she'll understand."

"She's a kid, Sam… She can come back… to her home."

"Okay. We'll have a word with her, tell her to leave you alone." Sam stood up and reached a hand out to Callen to help him up. "Here, come and rest in the lounge for a bit."

"Thanks," Callen puffed, grudgingly allowing Sam to help him to the couch. Sam quietly arranged the excess tubing while Callen shut his eyes and got his breath back. "Sam… Kamran's fine. Leave her be. It'll be nice to… see her again."

"If you're sure…" Sam said hesitatingly. "She'll be thrilled to see you. But you know what she's like… She'll ask a lot of questions."

"Like father, like daughter," Callen smirked. Sam gave him a playful punch, much more gentle than he would usually be, which made Callen roll his eyes and give Sam an 'I'm not dead yet' stare. "I'm just saying. How many times have you… asked how I am today?"

"Save your breath for the interrogation from my daughter," Sam told him, dodging the question.

Callen didn't complain when Sam suggested putting a film on for a bit. He didn't generally watch much television, but he still had a background ache in his head and he didn't feel like trying to read. Having something else to focus on would draw his attention away from the irritation and, he had to admit it, the claustrophobia the oxygen tube provoked in him, though try as he might to concentrate on the movie he found his eyelids constantly closing. He kept nodding off, only to wake with discomfort every so often from the pain in his ribs and chest. He was aware of Sam working on his laptop, but he felt his partner's worried gaze checking in on him every time he shifted uncomfortably.

At lunchtime, Sam nudged Callen properly awake and to Callen's continuing disgust his over-protective partner quickly checked his obs again before he helped him back into the kitchen to have his meds and eat. He managed half a sandwich and some fruit much to the approval of Sam and Michelle, but he still felt frustratingly tired.

"I might lie down for a bit…" he said with hesitation, when they'd finished. Sam instantly looked concerned, but Michelle gave him a supportive smile. It was his first day out of hospital, after all, and he'd been very ill. He wasn't going to be able to shrug this off in his usual dismissive fashion, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Fair enough, G," Sam agreed, not making a thing of it. "Come on, I'll help you." He took a firm hold of Callen's shoulders as the smaller man swayed slightly when he stood up, but the dizziness quickly passed and Callen brushed away Sam's support to move slowly but unaided to his room. He settled himself comfortably on the sofa bed, resting on his side and breathing the oxygen deeply through his nose. He was finding it hard to keep his eyes open. Sam half drew the curtains. "Get some rest, G," he said softly as he left.

Callen wasn't sure how long he slept, but he woke to hear Kamran chattering excitedly to Sam in the hallway and Sam urging her crossly to be quiet.

"I'm awake, Sam," he called out, guessing what their exchange had been about. For Kamran, that was invitation enough, and, squealing "Uncle Callen!" excitedly she burst through his partially open door like a small tornado while he was still in the process of easing himself up to a sitting position. Kamran bounced up onto the bed next to him and Callen was thankful that his sore left side was away from the door as she cuddled up to him and put her head on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her fondly.

"You're still alive, Uncle Callen, I can hear your heart beating," she giggled.

"Yeah? That's good. Tell your dad to… stop worrying." Callen looked pointedly at Sam who was watching them both from the doorway.

"You okay?" he asked, checking up as always. Callen nodded. "I'll go and fix you both a drink."

"Beer?" Callen called after him with feigned hopefulness, and he heard Sam's snort from the hallway.

"It sounds kind of funny," Kamran continued, moving her ear slightly over his ribs. "Sort of rushing, then slower for a bit, but mostly rushing. Different to Daddy's. Is that why you have to rest? Daddy said you need to rest lots."

"Something like that," he replied. She pulled away and looked up at him, studying his face, taking in the bandages on his arms and the oxygen tube in his nose. Uh-oh, Callen thought, here we go with all the questions. But to his surprise, Kamran's gaze moved quietly over him until she locked eyes with him and smiled sweetly. Sam must have had a word with her, Callen surmised uncomfortably, and he hoped that Sam had not laid down the law too strongly. It was Kamran's home, not his, and he didn't want the girl to feel awkward on his behalf. He returned the smile and was about to reluctantly explain when Kamran snuggled down next to him again, seemingly content.

"Shall I tell you about my school trip?" she asked. "If you're not too tired? Daddy says I mustn't tire you, but sitting here will be okay, won't it?"

"I would love to hear about your school trip, Kam," Callen replied truthfully, and for the first time since he'd landed back in hospital he started to forget his condition and relax as he listened to Kamran chattering happily to him.


	12. Chapter 12

_I may go a little quiet on this story while I beat Mexico into submission... but I will finish it I promise. I'm just struggling a bit with finishing the next chapter._

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

Later that evening, when Kamran had gone to bed and the adults were eating dinner, Callen pulled Sam up on him running interference with Kamran, but Sam refuted Callen's grumpy accusations.

"All I told her was that you'd just got out of hospital and needed some rest," he said calmly. "You interrupted before I had a chance to tell her why."

"Well she didn't ask why," Callen said tetchily. "Didn't ask a single question about…" he gestured embarrassingly to the oxygen tube. "You must have told her to… leave me alone and I… asked you not to."

"So let me get this straight," Sam said, trying to keep his expression neutral, though an ironic smile twitched the corners of his lips. "You are complaining because she DIDN'T give you the third degree about your health? You WANTED to have to answer all her questions?" Callen shook his head impatiently.

"No, I…" he faltered, cross at Sam's smiling face. He pushed the food around on his plate with his fork so he could avoid looking at either of them. "Of course not. I just didn't want you to make her feel... like she had to tiptoe around me. This is her home… not mine."

"Our daughter does not tiptoe around anything," Michelle told him firmly. "You know that. My guess is, she simply doesn't care about any of this," she waved her hand over at Callen, encompassing the oxygen as well as the dressings on his arms. "Children don't see things the same way," she continued more gently. "Kamran loves you. She was pleased to see you. Oh, I know you are all too aware of what you perceive to be a weakness," she held a finger up to prevent Callen interrupting. "But Kamran won't have seen it like that. She'll have seen YOU, her Uncle Callen, and that's all that mattered to her."

"And you will always have a place in our home, G," Sam added softly, in a voice that brooked no argument. Callen finally met his eyes, for the moment defeated, and Sam wondered if he would ever truly understand what it meant to have a loving family around him, through good times and bad. They continued their meal in silence, or rather Sam and Michelle ate, while Callen continued to push the food unseeingly round on his plate.

"Can I get you something else?" Michelle asked him after a while. He looked up at her, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache for him.

"It's fine," he replied in a low voice. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not hungry. Sorry."

"It's okay," she said reassuringly, getting up to clear the plates. Sam got up to help her, but Michelle pushed him away. "You boys go and watch a film or something," she encouraged. "I've got this." Sam kissed her gratefully.

"I think I'm just going to… turn in," Callen said, placing both hands firmly on the table to ease himself up. "Night, guys." He started to move slowly towards his room, and Michelle caught hold of Sam's arm to stop him following to help. They watched as Callen made his slow way down the hall, using the wall for support, but making the journey safely without assistance.

"Leave him for a bit," Michelle said to Sam quietly, and he turned to her, the concern for Callen fading from his eyes as he wrapped his arms round his wife.

"Stubborn independent fool," he muttered.

"He's really muddled in his head at the moment, isn't he?" Michelle said softly.

"He'll get over it," Sam replied gruffly. He knew how much Michelle cared for his partner. "He hates this. Being here. Being dependent on anyone. Being trapped…" he drifted off, his mind wondering back to Callen's confession in the hospital, about where his deep-rooted fear of being injured and vulnerable came from. He didn't want to break Callen's confidence even to Michelle, although he knew she would understand. "And he wants to see Marcus, I know he does, it's eating at him, but he's too damn proud."

"He might change his mind, tomorrow," Michelle said comfortingly. "Kam isn't an awful lot older. Chatting to her today may have been good for him. Given him a nudge in the right direction."

"He needs more than a nudge," Sam grumbled. "More like throwing off a cliff edge."

"Be patient with him."

"Oh I am. And thank you, too. He won't say it, so I will. Thank you for looking after him."

"But he is grateful."

"Yeah, he is. He just.."

"Hates it," Michelle interrupted, laughing. "I know. Help me clear up in here and then you can go and check on him."

In the quiet house, Callen tossed and turned, sleep eluding him once again. Restlessly he sat up, holding his hand over his sore ribs as he turned to sit on the edge of the bed in the dark, and then he rested his elbows onto his knees and hung his aching head forward into his hands. Experimentally, he pulled the oxygen tube off his head and sat turning it over in his hands, breathing deeply. All too soon, he started to feel light headed, his chest tightened and his breaths turned to ragged pants. The speed with which he started to struggle scared him and he fumbled the tube back into place with trembling hands, feeling impatient and irritated and insecure. He played over Michelle's and Sam's words from dinner in his head, and Sam's follow up pep talk when he'd come in to say goodnight later in the evening. He'd woken drowsily to Sam's knock on the door at the end of the evening, before he and Michelle retired up to bed for the night.

"That time again," Sam had said apologetically, brandishing his nurse's box and coming to sit next to Callen on the bed.

"You're enjoying this aren't you?" Callen muttered.

"Not really. You're a highly stressful patient," Sam teased, handing him his tablets. Callen obediently swallowed them, feeling guilty.

"Just say the word and I'll be out of your hair."

"I haven't got hair," Sam winked. "Here," he placed the thermometer under Callen's tongue again. "You know, we absolutely don't mind you being here," he said, taking full advantage of Callen temporarily unable to talk. "I know home for you is anywhere you unroll that bed roll, and I know putting down roots doesn't come easy after what you went through as a kid. But this here, this is your home. No strings. Just whenever, and for however long, you need it. Always." Callen swallowed and was silent for a while after Sam removed the thermometer.

"Thanks, Sam," he eventually said in a low voice.

"Get some sleep."

Sam's words echoed in Callen's head, and he was trying, but it wasn't coming easy that night. He sat, deep in contemplation, with his head in his hands for a long while in the darkness, thinking disjointed thoughts that somehow always circulated back to his childhood and round again to Marcus. Sam had often suggested that he tried meditating, and he wondered now if that was a skill that would help him put these chasing thoughts to rest. It was far more his style to lock everything away in a box, buried deep in in his psyche, in the same way that it was his style to handle his troubles on his own. Sam's and Michelle's words had touched him deeply, but he found himself once again unsettled by their commitment to him, rather than reassured. Sam had said no strings, but heavy words like duty and obligation and debt swam disconcertingly in his mind, and though he knew he would lay down his life for any of them in a heartbeat, he wasn't quite sure how he felt knowing he had people in his life who would do the same for him. For too many years, it had been the opposite, and he had been shunned, passed around, lied to and unwanted, so that he struggled to have faith that he could be accepted for who he was, that he could be loved in the simple way that Michelle had assured him Kamran loved him, that he could be wanted as part of a family, whether he was damaged or not. Was that how Marcus was destined now to live his life? Doubting himself, doubting his place in life and in his new family? Callen shuddered inside, desperately hoping Marcus would be one of the lucky ones. Lucky like Kamran, growing up with two parents who loved and supported her no matter what, in the same way he knew he would if she were his daughter.

Eventually he yawned, and rolled exhaustedly back into bed, and he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew Sam was knocking on his door again, beaming sunnily as usual and seemingly unaware of the emotional turmoil going on under his roof.

"Morning," he said brightly, and Callen, normally awake and alert in the mornings, raised bleary eyes to greet him, bearing Sam's medical administrations with resignation.

"I think…" he said, shifting carefully up and adjusting the tube in his nose with irritation, "I think we should go… visit Marcus today. If the offer still stands..."

Sam looked at him curiously. "You sure? Nothing's changed from yesterday, your oxygen levels are still through the floor, so don't think a trip out means I'm going to let you go without this," he flicked the oxygen tube running up the side of Callen's bed as he spoke. "I'm not carting you back off to the hospital because you're too…"

"Too…?" Callen interrupted, a hint of cheekiness back in his voice as he provoked Sam.

"Too, YOU," Sam said, with emphasis.

"Too me. How can I be 'too me'? I am me."

"As if I could forget."

"I think…" Callen said, serious again. "I think I will rest better once I have seen him. I did promise… to visit."

"So you did," Sam said, smiling quietly to himself. "So you did."


	13. Chapter 13

_Limping along still with this - thanks for the continued support, I hope it's still going okay. Guest/s - I am glad you are enjoying it, I was worried when I was asked to write this it would have a very limited appeal, but there do seem to be a few people who enjoy seeing a vulnerable side to Callen!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Callen shifted impatiently in the kitchen while Sam loaded the pool car he had borrowed from Hetty for the outing, partly for anonymity, and partly in the hope of giving Callen a more comfortable ride. Still unusually restless, Callen would have paced the room but Michelle's cautioning looks every time he moved kept him anchored to the worktop he was leaning on. Earlier, Sam had rung the Taylors who confirmed they would be delighted to have Callen visit, and yesterday's lunch invitation for them both still stood. Marcus was apparently very excited and couldn't wait to show Callen his new bedroom.

Callen glanced apprehensively down at his right forearm, where after a clumsy shower he had removed the bandage covering the long bullet graze. Henderson had ripped the partially healed scab off in their fight and so it was once again dark and angry and all too noticeable.

"Will it scare him?" he asked Michelle awkwardly. "Remind him of the gun..?"

"I shouldn't think so," Michelle answered calmly. "But I can stick something over it, if you'd rather?"

"Yes," he said tersely. "No…" He was starting to feel more human without half of him stuck together with sticking plaster. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I just don't want to give him nightmares."

"If he has nightmares, it'll be because of Henderson, not you," Michelle said to him reassuringly. He shot her one of his quick half smiles, so fleeting she almost missed it. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "He wants to see you because you're someone he can trust. A friend. Someone who makes him feel safe. He sees you as someone who saved him from a nightmare, not the cause of one." Callen bowed his head.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Are you ready?" Sam came into the kitchen from outside, pushing the wheelchair.

"I don't need that."

"I'm not carrying you."

"I'm not asking you to carry me. Got legs, haven't I? I can walk." Callen pushed off from the worktop, raising his hand to remove the tube in his nose from over his head as he moved towards the door. "You coming?"

Sam rolled his eyes to heaven, giving Michelle a 'save me' look which made her chuckle and shoo him after his recalcitrant partner, who was panting his way down the drive to the waiting silver SUV. The passenger door was open, and he rested briefly on the frame before easing himself inside, breathing hard. Sam caught up to him, and silently handed him the oxygen tube connected to the ambulatory tank he had already safely stowed behind Callen's seat. Thankfully, Callen didn't make a fuss, simply fitting it over his head and taking deep breaths through his nose, almost with relief, Sam thought. His partner might well be making headway with the rest of his recovery; he was getting stronger every day and Sam had been pleased with the healing bullet holes in his arm and ribs and the stitches on his chest from the drain when he had helped Callen re-dress the wounds after his shower that morning, but the lack of oxygen was still proving a difficult hurdle. So too was Callen's broken rib, Sam noted, watching him struggle to get comfortable as he drove the car carefully round a sharp bend. They had left the thick strapping in place when Callen showered, though he had grumbled that it was itching like hell.

"Sorry," Sam said as he rounded the slipway up onto the freeway and saw Callen clench his jaw tightly when the car's acceleration pushed him against the back of the seat. He smoothly changed lanes, half an eye on his partner the whole time. "Still got that headache too?"

"A bit," Callen admitted, opening his eyes and trying not to show Sam so many tells as to how he was feeling.

"Save your act for Marcus," Sam chided him, and Callen smiled tiredly.

"What makes you think it's an act?"

"I know you," Sam said simply. Callen couldn't think of a suitable comeback for that. He leaned back, trying to ignore the pain in his rib and watched the other cars flashing by. It felt so normal to be driven around by Sam, even in the clunky big SUV rather than the sporty Challenger. They started to leave the hub of the city behind, heading out into leafy green outskirts up in the hills.

"Nice area," Callen commented.

"Not far now," Sam told him, and didn't miss the flash of relief on Callen's face which was quickly followed by apprehension and finally Callen's working day neutral expression as he locked his feelings under his mask. Sam shook his head to himself, turning left and right and finally pulling up outside an attractive two-storey house in a tree lined avenue. "You got this?" he asked, forgetting to withhold his concern as he turned to look at Callen. For answer, Callen opened the car door, and moved to get out. Sam hurried round to put a hand on his arm, reaching behind the seat to pull out the oxygen cylinder Callen was connected to. Callen was relieved to see Sam had stowed it unobtrusively in a backpack, though he still glanced surreptitiously around him, watching for nosy neighbours. They walked slowly together up the neat front path, and Callen saw a small boy's bicycle lying on the ground outside the garage door. He smiled wistfully. He had always wanted a bike as a child. Sam followed his look, and understood, saddened as yet another small piece of Callen's childhood puzzle fell into place.

Sam gave Callen one last inspection as they reach the front door. Callen nodded, though he wasn't quite sure exactly what he meant, and Sam raised his hand to ring the bell. Callen took a deep breath and almost immediately the door was opened wide. Janice Taylor, smiling warmly up at them, invited them both in, casting ex-professional eyes over Callen as she showed them through to a light, roomy lounge and offered him a seat in a soft armchair. He stood with his hands on the back of the chair for a moment, taking in the simply decorated room that was sunny, uncluttered, and tidy, very tidy. No sign that a small boy lived there. Callen felt his stomach roll, remembering countless over-bearing foster homes where children should be neither seen nor heard. He swallowed, and almost over-balanced when he felt small arms suddenly clutch round his leg, and he realised Sam and Janice had been talking to him and there was Marcus looking up at him, chattering excitedly and he hadn't heard a word the boy said, but he made himself smile down at him.

"Sit down, G," Sam said quietly, giving him a nudge, and with his stomach still churning and a roaring in his head making it difficult for him to focus he obeyed, rounding the chair he had been leaning on and lowering himself stiffly into it. Sam placed the backpack at his feet and stepped back to sit in a two-seater couch Janice Taylor indicated near Callen's chair. Callen ran a hand down over his face and for the briefest of seconds Sam saw in his partner the apprehensive child Callen had become, the child afraid of how to behave in a new house, the child trying to fade unobtrusively into the background and not become a target for trouble. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability he wasn't used to seeing, and it saddened him. "This is a nice room," he said politely to Janice, giving Callen time. Janice looked around, as if seeing it through fresh eyes.

"Thank you," she replied. "We've not long finished decorating in here. It's been the last room in the house to get done, and we rarely use it to be honest, though it is wonderful to have somewhere we can keep so peaceful and uncluttered. Marcus will no doubt show you our dayroom when you've had a moment to recover after your journey. The traffic can be so bad at this time of day!" She made practiced small talk, seeing, as Sam did, that Callen needed a minute or two to compose himself. "Can I get either of you a drink?" she asked. "Marcus?"

"Orange juice please!" he said, and Sam smiled and said that sounded good and he'd have the same. Marcus beamed.

"Sounds good to me too," Callen finally spoke, and Marcus eagerly went with Janice, returning quickly with a glass of orange juice which he carefully carried in both hands and handed to Callen. "Thanks," Callen said to him, not missing the boy swell with pride. He had bestowed on Callen a kind of superhero status, and was almost tumbling over himself to please him. He reminded Callen of a very young, very eager Eric, almost puppy-like. It made him smile, and he looked over at Sam and saw that Sam understood his thoughts and was smiling broadly himself.

"How are you settling in, Marcus?" Sam asked.

"Okay thank you," Marcus answered him politely, turning immediately back to Callen. "Can you come and see my new bedroom before we have lunch? I tidied it specially for you so you can see it."

"Why don't you show Callen the rest of the downstairs for now?" Janice suggested, coming back into the room with two glasses of juice which she passed to Sam and Marcus. Sam thanked her, appreciative that she was perceptive enough to see the difficulty Callen might have climbing the stairs.

"Come on, I'll show you the playroom!" Marcus said eagerly, and not wanting to disappoint him, Callen put his untouched juice down on a side table and reached instead for the backpack. Sam started to get up too, but Callen gave him a firm look which said, I've got this, I don't need a mother, and submissively Sam settled back down and allowed Callen to push himself up and follow Marcus slowly out of the room on his own.

"He's still struggling," Janice observed quietly, not wanting Callen to over-hear.

"He's getting there," Sam replied lightly.

"He hides the pain well," Janice said, and Sam remembered that she had been a nurse. "I specialised in patients with chronic pain," she told him. "You get used to how people deal with pain, how they move, the look in their eyes."

"He's had some practice," Sam admitted.

"Will he be okay getting upstairs?" Janice asked. Sam nodded. He knew Callen would make the journey upstairs no matter what, he wouldn't let the boy down even if it pushed him too far. "Marcus has been so keen to show him his bedroom."

"He seems happy here," Sam observed.

"He's doing okay," Janice said fondly. "He's an easy child, mostly, pretty quiet. We've had some tough moments… some nightmares he hasn't wanted to talk about. I don't think he's really grieved for his dad just yet. He's been obsessed with your partner, he's always asking about him." Sam detected the note of concern in her voice. As an experienced foster carer, she knew once the initial shock subsided there would be some difficult times for Marcus.

"Callen has a way of getting under your skin," Sam said. He paused, then added, "The two of them… they shared a pretty rough experience. Maybe Callen visiting here today will help Marcus along." And vice versa, Sam thought to himself hopefully.


	14. Chapter 14

_I am very very very sorry! I've had some other stuff going on, and I'm stuck on a scene in Ninguno Abandonado which I need to somehow finish in order to get on to the next bit, so this poor story has taken a back seat, and I realise I have some reviews to catch up on too - please accept my apologies! I appreciate everyone who is still following this and taking the time to share their thoughts with me :-)_

* * *

 **CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

When Sam and Janice went to go and find Callen and Marcus for lunch, Sam initially panicked to see Callen down on the floor in the playroom at the back of the house, but he quickly realised Marcus had Callen involved in some sort of game that seemed to involved Marcus doing a lot of running around and shrieking while Callen fended him playfully away. Callen's eyes met his with a helpless 'what else could I do?' look, and Sam smiled to see the light hearted side to his partner that he'd been missing for a while now.

"Looks like someone has got you in your place down there," he teased and Callen smirked up at him.

"Hey there, buddy," he said, catching hold of Marcus and causing the boy to writhe in his grasp, squealing with excitement. "Lunch time." Marcus looked disappointed, but Sam could see Callen was relieved playtime was over for now. He reached down to give Callen a hand back up. His partner's chest was heaving, but he looked more relaxed than Sam had seen him in the past week, giving Marcus a high-five once he was standing, calling a truce to their game.

They enjoyed a simple lunch of cold chicken and salad, with crusty home baked bread rolls. Callen ate dutifully, hoping the small amount he consumed didn't appear ungrateful, and he took the tablets Sam discreetly handed to him without fuss. As soon as they'd finished, Marcus begged again for Callen to come up to see his bedroom, and with a resigned glance at Sam, Callen nodded. Marcus rushed happily ahead, and Callen rose more slowly, accepting Sam's offered support with good grace.

"You good?" Sam asked quietly, as he helped Callen back out into the hall and up the wide stairs, Callen using both the rail and Sam's offered arm for assistance.

"Yeah," Callen replied, panting a little, but he seemed content to be spending the time with Marcus, and Sam quietly held firm in his belief that the visit was as good for his partner as it was for the boy. He walked Callen slowly along to where Marcus was impatiently waiting in an open doorway, and directed him through the room to the boy's bed, helping him lower himself down onto it and stowing the backpack safely in the corner.

"I'll come back in a bit," Sam said, looking at his watch, and Callen nodded. Marcus bounced happily onto the bed next to Callen, pointing out the circular shaped window high on the wall where the ceiling reached to the eaves. There was another window next to the bed, and glancing out of it, Callen could see a large wooden climbing frame and swing set in the back yard, which caused his stomach to tighten involuntarily and he felt Marcus's hand slip into his.

"Are you okay?" he heard the boy tentatively ask, and dragging himself back to the present day he looked down at Marcus and nodded, and when he trusted his voice to speak he said he was fine, knowing his response wouldn't have passed Sam's radar but he hoped Marcus wasn't quite so astute. "You looked a bit scared," Marcus continued, in the direct way Callen had come to find normal from young children, though it still took him aback. "Do you have nightmares? Sometimes I wake up with nightmares, and I feel scared." There was a troubled depth to the matter of fact statement that Callen felt he couldn't leave unaddressed, and he shifted on the bed so that there was room for Marcus to sit next to him like Kam had at Sam's house the day before. Marcus wriggled close to him, and just like he had with Kam, he wrapped an arm protectively around the boy, wondering how he could start.

"Yeah, I have nightmares," he began softly.

"About the man… and the dark building?" Marcus's voice trembled, the terror in his mind not far from the surface.

"Not so much that. But others. Sometimes very bad."

"Are they about you getting hurt?" Marcus asked, large eyes looking up at Callen. "You got hurt because of me. Sometimes I think I have nightmares about that." He traced his small fingers down the graze on Callen's arm.

"Marcus… I thought we talked about that," Callen said gently. "It's not your fault." He wasn't sure the boy believed him, but he didn't know how else he could convince him not to blame himself.

"I miss my daddy!" Marcus suddenly choked, and Callen felt tears well in his own eyes for the obvious grief the young boy was having to deal with. He reached clumsily across with his left hand to rub the shaking small shoulder, letting him cry. He had the feeling Marcus hadn't really processed the loss of his father yet.

"I know," he said softly. "It'll be okay." He felt Marcus cling tightly to him.

"How do you know?" the small voice asked, between sobs. Callen stifled his permanent reluctance to talk about himself.

"I lost my mum when I was a bit younger than you," he said. "I didn't know my dad. I grew up living with other families, like you living here with Dan and Janice." Marcus was quiet for a long time.

"I like it here," he said eventually, but the admission made him cry more.

"It's okay," Callen said, still rubbing his shoulder. "It's okay to like it here. It doesn't mean you miss your dad any less." Marcus looked up at him with trusting blue eyes misted with tears. Callen gave him a lop-sided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sometimes bad things happen," he continued. "We can't stop them." He paused for breath, but Marcus seemed to be taking comfort from his words, so he carried on. "It's not your fault. And you'll always miss your dad. Sometimes a lot, like now, but it will get easier. You'll realise there are other people who care for you, who'll look out for you…" Callen felt Marcus still quietly sobbing, but he figured it was cathartic for the boy to cry and so he didn't try to stop him. After what felt like a long time he realised Marcus had fallen asleep, warmly cocooned in the safety of his arm. He sighed quietly, wincing as he carefully shifted to take the pressure off his damaged rib, but being careful to keep his movements to a minimum to allow the boy to peacefully sleep.

Eventually he heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and looking at his watch he realised it was Sam, coming up to help him back down the stairs to go home. He shook his head as he saw Sam look enquiringly round the door, nodding down at the quietly sleeping child under his arm. Sam saw, and understood, but Callen didn't miss the fleeting sideways glance his partner gave the oxygen backpack on the floor.

"It'll be fine, Sam," Callen whispered, not wanting to disturb Marcus while he slept so calmly. Sam moved quietly to sit on the chair near the desk in the corner, unable to hide a smile at the sight before him, Marcus closely cuddled up to Callen and his partner with a protective arm wrapped around him. It was unusual to say the least to see Callen accept the physical touch of another person for so long.

"I gotta say it, G, maybe one day fatherhood will suit you," Sam whispered with a wink, only half joking.

"He just needed a friend," Callen replied dismissively.

"He needed someone he trusted," Sam responded. "You." Callen shrugged stiffly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, don't fuss." Callen paused. "He has nightmares."

"Hardly a surprise, after what he went through…"

"No."

"He'll be okay, G," Sam whispered reassuringly. "Janice… she's on the ball. She really cares for him." Callen nodded absently.

"That's good," he said eventually.

"She said he won't talk about his nightmares with her," Sam informed him. "Did he tell you?"

"Not in detail. He still blames himself for what happened in the warehouse… for what happened to me."

"Kid logic," Sam nodded.

"Well, it's stupid."

"Not to him. He got grabbed to taunt his father, who then got killed in front of him. And in his mind you got hurt trying to save him. Twice." Sam paused. "I'd be worried if he wasn't having nightmares to be honest."

After a pause to reflect on the truth in Sam's words, Callen asked, "Do you think he needs to talk to someone?"

"A shrink you mean?" Callen nodded.

"Maybe. I reckon talking to you will help him more. Even more so when you're better." Callen looked down at his scarred arm as he used it to tidy the trailing oxygen tube away from the boy's sleeping form.

"Maybe we shouldn't have visited him yet."

"I think you'd have upset him more if you'd stayed away," Sam said emphatically. As Callen watched the boy's slow and regular breaths, peaceful in sleep, he couldn't help but silently agree with his partner.


	15. Chapter 15

_Firstly - I am very sorry to have left this story hanging for so long - but I hope those of you who read_ Ninguna Abandonado _feel it justified the wait! Thank you to everyone still patiently waiting for an update._ _Just this and one more chapter to go, I think..._

* * *

 **CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Callen jumped as he heard the sound of his front door opening, reaching instinctively for his gun. He realised he had drifted asleep in his chair in the lounge, again. It had been happening all too often the past couple of days, since he had moved back in to his own home. After almost two weeks staying with Sam, Callen was relieved to be back in his quiet, almost empty house and no longer feeling like an imposition on Sam and his family. It was a relief second only to finally being rid of the damn oxygen.

"Only me," he heard Sam call cautiously, and he relaxed, tucking the gun back onto the table out of sight. Sam stood broad-shouldered in the doorway, looking down at him with Callen's spare key still in his hand. "I did knock first…"

"I must've fallen asleep," Callen said, grumpy to have been caught vulnerable. Sam was instantly concerned.

"You feeling okay?"

"Just tired, Sam. That's normal, isn't it? Isn't that what the doc said the other day?"

"He said it would be a while before you were operating at full capacity," Sam agreed slowly. It still wasn't like Callen to sleep so much and it worried Sam. But Callen's doctor had been cautiously pleased with his progress at his two-week check up three days ago, finally signing off on Callen being allowed to come off the oxygen completely, and return home. Sam prided himself on his patience, especially where his recalcitrant partner was concerned, but even he had to admit it had been wearing thin after two weeks of Callen being an impatient patient in his home.

"Stop worrying," Callen said with a sigh. "Why are you here?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "Not another appointment? Because I've had enough of being used as a human pin cushion. I swear that last nurse had never taken blood in her life!" Sam chuckled. His needle-phobic partner had certainly had to endure more than his fair share of blood tests over the last few weeks.

"You were loving all the attention!" Sam teased. "Oh, nuuurse, have you got another plaster? This one's still bleeding a bit…!" Callen glared as Sam pretended to imitate him, pushing back his sleeve and showing Sam the blood bruise on his wrist.

"Not loving it, not even a little bit," he grouched.

"So, are you ready?" Sam felt concern once again twisting his stomach when it was clear Callen didn't immediately know what he was talking about. "The office?" he prompted.

"Oh…" Callen ran his hand over his face, willing himself to wake properly and fire on all cylinders. "Yeah. Hetty. Case report. I got it." He clambered to his feet, and hoped Sam missed him swaying slightly as a brief moment of dizziness overcame him. "Car out front?" He tried to sound nonchalant, cursing himself for trying too hard.

"How do you think I got here, flew?" Sam muttered, letting his concerns slide. For now. He kept a close eye on Callen as his partner locked up and they walked down the path and got into the Challenger, but Callen seemed to be holding it together now he was up and moving.

"How have things been in the office, anyway?" Callen asked once they were cruising.

"Not much different to normal. No interesting cases at the moment though."

"Not missing me then?"

"Nah," Sam chuckled, and Callen smirked. "I mean, I think Hetty has missed someone to drink with. Kensi's clutter is taking over the bullpen with no one to keep her desk in check. Deeks is desperate for someone other than Eric to needle…."

"And you?" Callen enquired with a wink.

"Let's just say I will be happy to spend time with you at work again, instead of at my place for a while."

"Guess I wasn't always the best company at yours," Callen admitted. It was an understatement and they both knew it. Callen remembered guiltily how he had ended up trying to yell at Sam one evening. It hadn't really come off because of how constricted his lungs had been even to speak normally, so he had ended up storming furiously into his room, slamming the door with such violence two of the pictures hanging on the wall had crashed to the floor with glass shattering everywhere. It had suited Callen's mood at the time, and he'd spent the whole of the following day locked away sulking like a teenager and refusing to let either Sam or Michelle in to clean up the mess. Only his lack of ability to breathe without the oxygen had kept him from running that night, which hadn't helped his mood any.

"Apology accepted," Sam smiled, pulling in to his usual parking space. They both got out of the car and Callen stood looking at the big doors for a moment. "Okay?"

"Yeah," Callen sighed. It had been a tough few weeks, and he knew he still had a way to go before Hetty would sign off on him returning to active field duty. He was hoping today he could convince her to let him work in a desk-based capacity again. He hated being side-lined.

It was three weeks to the day since he had last walked into the old building that had always felt more like home to him than his house did, but it felt like he had been away longer. He walked to his desk smiling to see Kensi and Deeks still behaving exactly as they always did, laughing and joking. They stopped when they saw him, and both greeted him warmly. Kensi tried to discreetly sweep her belongings back to her side of the desk before coming round to embrace him, glaring at Deeks when her partner made a joke about there being no room for Callen any more.

"Don't listen to him," she said crossly. "I was just making use of the space to sort a few things while you weren't here, that's all."

"It's fine, Kens," Callen smiled, enjoying the normalcy of it all even though he knew it wouldn't be long before the mess encroaching on his desk started to annoy him. Sam joined them, and Callen realised his partner had been talking to Hetty, which made him feel uncomfortable. He looked across to the older woman's office to see her beckoning him over to her.

"In trouble on your first day back," Deeks teased, causing Kensi again to tell him to be quiet. Callen rolled his eyes at Deeks as he left the bullpen.

"Mr Callen," Hetty greeted him with a smile, gesturing to the chair opposite her desk as she pushed a cup of tea in his direction. "Marshmallow root tea…. It's simply wonderful for the lungs." Callen raised his eyebrows.

"Marshmallow?"

"Don't argue with Mother Nature, Mr Callen. She works in mysterious ways."

"Like you," Callen smirked.

"How are you feeling?" Callen sighed. First Sam, now Hetty. He supposed it was inevitable.

"I am… getting there," he said after a pause, wondering how much Sam had told her, though knowing Hetty, she probably already knew everything she wanted to know.

"A difficult few weeks," she said carefully, staring at him. Callen fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under her penetrating gaze, turning his attention instead to the tea. "Your time with Mr Hanna… I gather there were a few… disturbances?"

"How do you…" Callen began awkwardly. "Never mind."

"I expect you are appreciating the peace and quiet now that you are back at home."

"Something like that," Callen nodded.

"Rest all you need," Hetty said briskly. "No one is expecting you to bounce back just yet."

"Hetty, I…" he paused, looking down at the tea. "About that… I want to come back to work."

"Do you really think that's wise?" Hetty asked. She could see even now he was fighting exhaustion. "You have nothing to prove. Why don't you take the time to heal?"

Callen was silent, wondering how he could put into words the desperation he felt to get back to some sort of normality. His physical vulnerability over the past few weeks had shaken him, and he needed to feel in control again.

"You let me back before," he said instead, referring to the day before he had collapsed, three weeks ago, when Sam had helped sign him out of the hospital against his doctor's advice, and he had continued to work with his team on the Henderson case.

"And look where it got you," Hetty cautioned. Though she would never admit it, she too had been shaken by his latest brush with death. Seeing him dependent for so long on the oxygen had been a difficult burden to bear, and she knew it had taken its toll on Sam, too, in more ways than one. "How is the boy?" she asked, hoping to divert him.

"He's okay." It wasn't wholly true. Sam had taken Callen to visit Marcus a few times over the past couple of weeks, and though Marcus was always keen to see him, Callen wasn't sure if the boy seeing his continual need for the oxygen hadn't fuelled the guilt Marcus still held for Callen's condition.

"Why don't you go and see him again now?" Hetty suggested. "Sam can take you. The paperwork can wait." Callen quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Can I have that in writing?" he teased. Hetty was not known for her leniency in ensuring her team delivered the necessary paperwork for each case in a timely fashion, and he was already well overdue with the Henderson case. There again, he was probably playing right into Hetty's hands, seeing as she didn't want him to return to work yet anyway. He remained seated, waiting for her decision on his return to work. Hetty made a shooing motion with her hands.

"Go," she ushered him. "It will help Marcus to see you recovered."

"Recovered?" Callen winked. "So I'm good to work again then?"

"Ohh," Hetty exclaimed in exasperation, knowing Callen had beaten her on that one. "Well for goodness sake don't overdo it." They both looked up to see Sam approaching, with a somewhat sombre expression on his face. "Very timely, Mr Hanna. I have suggested a further excursion for you both, to go and visit with Marcus."

"That might be difficult," Sam said guardedly. "He's gone missing."


	16. Chapter 16

_So here it is, finally finished! This story has taken me on a far longer journey than I envisaged when I first started writing it! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with it - I wasn't initially sure it would have much appeal so I have really loved that quite a few readers have enjoyed it!_

* * *

 **CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"What do you mean, he's missing?" Callen demanded. Hetty's delicate china cup and saucer rattled in his hands as he pushed them aside. He placed both hands flat on the desk and took a shaky deep breath, pushing himself upright and starting to move towards the door.

"Calm down, Mr Callen," he heard Hetty say beseechingly, and he felt Sam's hand on his arm gently holding him back.

"Janice Taylor rang," Sam explained. "Marcus is supposed to be at school. She dropped him off, but by the time it came to registration, he'd gone."

"Where the hell has he gone?" Callen asked heatedly, not expecting an answer.

"It was only his second day at his new school," Sam continued. "Maybe something upset him…" He kept his hand on Callen's arm, worrying for his partner whose breathing was beginning to grow ragged as he failed to maintain his composure. Callen turned to Hetty.

"Can we…?" he started to ask. Hetty had made herself quite clear in the past regarding the use of federal resources for personal matters, and he wasn't sure if this qualified. Though consequences be damned, he was going to find Marcus anyway.

"The boy is a witness in one of our cases," Hetty replied calmly. "Use whatever you need." Callen needed no further invitation, striding in the direction of Ops and taking the stairs two at time. Hetty and Sam watched him with concern. Hetty shook her head. "Keep an eye on him, Mr Hanna."

"Always," Sam said, already following in his partner's wake. But by the time Sam got upstairs to join Callen in tasking Eric and Nell to start looking for Marcus, Callen was already gone.

"He said he was going to go and check his house," Nell told Sam apologetically.

"Check his house… Marcus doesn't even know where he lives!" Sam was exasperated. "What have you got?"

"Nothing yet," Nell quickly filled Sam in. "There's no sign of Marcus leaving the school on any of the school security or any local traffic cams that we can see. We'll keep checking… but the area around the back playing fields is largely un-monitored. We're checking all the cameras we can between the school and his foster house, and as soon as we can get satellite coverage of the area around both we will let you know. LAPD have his details too, and they've sent someone to the Taylor's house just in case there's more to this than a runaway child…" Nell's voice faded.

"Thanks Nell," Sam said gratefully.

"Go find him. Both of them," she said with a small smile.

Sam drove as if the devil was at his heels, pulling up outside Callen's house with a flourish. With relief, he saw one of the pool cars still parked a little way down the street. He strode crossly up the path and for the second time that day used his spare key to unlock Callen's house. Inside, Callen was shutting the door to one of the back rooms, walking back down the hall towards him turning a small old book over in his hands. Even from a distance Sam could hear his laboured breathing.

"This is getting to be a habit," Sam accused. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something…" Callen replied vaguely. He tossed the pool car's keys to his grumpy partner. "Since you're here now… drive me over to the Taylor's?" Sam looked bemused. "I've got a hunch," Callen explained, and, not much the wiser, Sam resignedly sighed and they headed out to the Challenger.

"Go round the back," Callen instructed when they arrived, looking at the house intently as Sam slowed the Challenger to drive past. There was a police car parked out front, and Callen could see Janice Taylor standing by the window, staring out. He didn't want any of them to know he was there, not yet, just in case he was wrong.

"Why here?" Sam asked, turning the car into the next street where he parked as close as he could to the alleyway leading to the Taylor's back yard. "Surely if he wanted to run away…"

"Just a hunch," Callen said again. "Let me go on my own." Sam got out of the car with Callen and walked with him to the fence. "I'll be fine, Sam," Callen reiterated, using Sam's offered hand to help him scale the boarded wooden fence. "He'll talk more if it's just me."

"If he's even there," Sam muttered. "Give me a yell if you need help," he said with resignation, as Callen dropped to the ground on the other side and made his way to the wooden play structure. It took up the back corner of the large, pleasant garden, partially shielded from view of the house by some leafy plants, and was shaped like a castle turret, with a long arm stretching out supporting a climbing rope and a swing. The whole thing stood on bark chippings which moved quietly underfoot as Callen made his way slowly round the swing.

He stood silently at the bottom of the large square tower. He'd led Sam to believe Marcus would be more likely to talk if he was on his own, and there was enough truth in that for Sam to respect his decision. But after confessing to his partner in the hospital about the incident with Ted that led to his broken leg when he was seven, there was also a large part of Callen that didn't want Sam to see the dread he was just about keeping a handle on right now. He hadn't set foot on any kind of climbing frame since that day, and the thought of climbing up and checking to see if Marcus was in the closed-in den right at the top was filling him with a weird sort of claustrophobia. He took a few deep breaths, chiding himself for being such a fool. He was a grown man now, not a scared boy.

"Marcus?" he said gently, and his voice sounded loud in the quiet garden. "It's only me. Callen. I'm coming up." Straining his ears he thought he heard a faint whimper. "It's okay, buddy," he said, putting one foot on the bottom rung. "You're not in trouble." Callen concentrated on reassuring Marcus as he climbed. His head was roaring, and he felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead and under the strapping that still bound his broken rib. When he reached the top he was panting hard, and it wasn't all due to his recovering lungs. He sat on the ledge that surrounded the den in the centre of the tower, organising his thoughts as he peered in through the small doorway and waited for his eyes to acclimatise to the relative dark. Huddled in the back, looking worried, was Marcus. A brief smile twitched at the corners of Callen's lips, but it went unseen. "Hey," he said, his voice rough. "Room for me in there?" Marcus nodded without looking at Callen, and Callen wriggled his way into the small space. Maybe there was another reason he hadn't set foot in a climbing frame for all these years, he thought. They really were designed for small children. Inching backwards on his bottom and hoping he wasn't incarcerated for life, Callen moved so he was sitting next to Marcus. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. Marcus nodded again, but he'd been crying, Callen thought, and he still wouldn't look up. "Want to tell me about it?"

"I…" Marcus sniffled.

"School?" Callen probed gently.

"It's alright," Marcus responded quietly. "I don't know anyone there."

"Not yet," Callen said encouragingly. "Give it a few days. You'll make some friends." Even as he spoke them, Callen hated the cliched words. How many times had he been told that as a kid? He'd never stayed anywhere long enough to make friends, and before long he'd given up trying, settling for life as a loner.

"Not when they know what I did," Marcus whispered.

"What you…" Callen broke off. He felt out of his depth. Nothing he said seemed to get through to the boy to ease his guilt.

"I thought you'd come and see me… at the weekend. Before school yesterday." The disappointment in Marcus's voice was clear, and Callen wracked his tired brain, hoping he hadn't made a promise to visit which he had left unfulfilled. Sam… Sam would have reminded him, surely? Wouldn't have left him at home, resting, knowing he'd told Marcus he'd come back?

"I had… appointments…" It sounded lame.

"I know, you told me." Marcus choked on a sob. "You told me you might not be able to come for a few days… But I was so worried about the new school, I really hoped that you would!"

Callen felt some of his tension dissipate. He hadn't fallen through on a promise. "New schools are tough," he said, reaching out, hoping Marcus would allow a hug. The boy's small body was still rigid, strained, but he relaxed as Callen rubbed his shoulder, and Callen wondered what to say next, and whether he should address the worry Marcus had caused everyone by disappearing. He remembered the times he had run away from foster homes. The reasons he had chosen to run were different, but he knew he never welcomed the lectures he got each time he was eventually found. He had never once been on the receiving end of a kind or understanding word, and he found he blanked at what he could say now that might offer Marcus comfort. In the end he said nothing and hoped his presence would be enough.

After a while, Marcus took a deep breath, and Callen felt some of the strain return under his hand as the boy appeared to be preparing himself for something. Callen was careful to keep everything about him the same as he watched Marcus with concerned eyes. Finally, Marcus lifted his head and made eye contact with Callen. Callen smiled reassuringly.

"You're okay," he said gently. Marcus nodded, scanning Callen's face carefully, seeking comfort.

"You haven't got your tube to help you breathe!" Marcus was suddenly panicked as he noticed the absence of the oxygen tube in Callen's nose. Callen kept his reassuring smile in place, trying not to chuckle and cause Marcus any upset. There had been a time when the presence of the tube had caused Marcus fear, and Callen had answered lots of worried questions on several of his visits over the past two weeks.

"That's a good thing," he said. "My doctor… he doesn't think I need it any more."

"So you're all better?" Marcus twisted round, trying to see Callen's right arm which was still lying loosely over his shoulders. The scar was still angry and pink, but the thick bloody scab was no longer there and it looked a lot less frightening. "You're not going to die like Daddy?"

"No, I'm not." Callen hugged the boy tight, unable to hide the fondness that he had grown to feel for him.

"You're my friend," Marcus explained. "I feel safe when you're here, and worried when you're not. I don't want you to die too. Is that okay?"

"I'm glad you feel safe when I'm here," Callen said. "But you're safe when I'm not here too. This is a good place… Daniel and Janice… I know you saw some horrible things, and I know it's not the same without your dad. But it will be okay."

"How do you know?"

"Because I…" Callen baulked at the details. "I just do," he said simply. "You'll have to trust me."

Marcus nodded, and snuggled up against Callen, peaceful now. They sat quietly together until Callen spoke again.

"Listen, Marcus, I want to give you something." He was awkward. He hadn't been given many gifts as child. He pulled the small book out of his back pocket, wondering if he should have wrapped it, or at least put it in a bag. "It's a book. It belonged to… to my little sister." To Alina. He'd found it years ago in the wardrobe of what had been Alina's bedroom, and, like a sentimental fool, he'd left it there, as if it added to the roots he'd put down in that house. "It's called Потерянный ребенок… _The Lost Child_." Marcus looked up in awe as Callen spoke the foreign words. "It's about a young boy… finding his way in life," Callen said, handing the book to Marcus.

"It's all full of funny words!" Marcus looked disappointed.

"It's Russian. I'll make you a deal," Callen said. "No more running and hiding… And I'll teach you how to read it."

"Really, you will?" Marcus asked, interested again now, but still unsure. "I'm not very good at reading… it might take you a long time."

Callen smiled.

"I promise," he said simply.


End file.
